WHEN I wuz somewhat younger, I wuz reckoned purty gay; I had my fling at everything In a rollickin’, coltish way.
But times have strangely altered Since sixty years ago — This age of steam an’ things do n't seem Like the age I used to know.
Your modern innovations Do n't suit me, I confess, As did the ways of the good ol’ days,— But I'm gettin’ on, I guess.
I set on the piazza, An’ hitch round with the sun; Sometimes, mayhap, I take a nap, Waitin’ till school is done.
An’ then I tell the children The things I done in youth,— An’ near as I can, as a vener'ble man, I stick to the honest truth,—
But the looks of them‘ at listen Seem sometimes to express The remote idee that I'm gone — you see?— An’ I am gettin’ on, I guess.
I get up in the mornin’, An’, nothin’ else to do, Before the rest are up an’ dressed, I read the papers through.
I hang round with the women All day an’ hear‘ em talk; An’ while they sew or knit I show The baby how to walk.
An’, somehow, I feel sorry When they put away his dress An’ cut his curls (‘ cause they're like a girl's! ) — I'm gettin’ on, I guess.
Sometimes, with twilight round me, I see, or seem to see, A distant shore where friends of yore Linger an’ watch for me.
Sometimes I've heered‘ em callin’ So tender-like‘ nd low That it almost seemed like a dream I dreamed, Or an echo of long ago;
An’ sometimes on my forehead There falls a soft caress, Or the touch of a hand,— you understand,— I'm gettin’ on, I guess.
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