Old childhood friend, I fear it’s true,
That time has put its brand on you.
Your face has grown more rounded now,
With wrinkles deep across your brow.

The eyebrows thick about your eyes,
Long lobes form ears like butterflies.
Your cheeks do puff but I suppose
They complement your Roman nose.

Above thin lips is fuzzy hair.
Strong effort made to grow it there.
Detracts from what we men all dread,
The hair is gone upon your head.

Your chin just adds to aging trouble.
My pal, I think they call it double.
Your suit is nice, you’re great in blue
But the coat is sorta tight on you.

It’s difficult to name your type:
Not old, not fat--just overripe.
It seems old age is growing nearer,
Each time I view you in the mirror.

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