You Tell Me I am growing old,
I tell you that's not so! The house I live in is worn out And that of course I know. It's been used a long, long while, It's weathered many a gale; I'm not really surprised you think I am getting somewhat frail. The color changed the roof; The window's getting dim It's walls a bit transparent And looking rather thin. The foundation's not so steady As once it used to be; My house is getting shaky But my "house" isn't me! The dweller in my little "house" Is young and bright and gay; Just starting on a life to last Throughout eternal day. You only see the outside, Which is all that most folks see; You tell me I am getting old? You've mixed my "house" with me! Dora Johnson |