I turned fifty. I feel really good.
My body's still working quite well thanks. (Touch wood!)
My hair's not too grey, my wrinkles are few,
I can still touch my toes with my knuckles. (Can you?)
I'm quite full of vigour, just getting ripe.
(But they now print the phone book in much smaller type.)
My hearing's still good. What's that you say?
Speak clearly, don't mumble, your voice wafts away.
Inside this old body I'm still young, but then
If life starts at forty, I'm really just ten.