YOU TELL ME I AM GETTING OLD...

You tell me I am getting 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 in use a long, long while,
it's weathered many a gale.
I'm really not not surprised you think
it's getting somewhat frail.

The color's changing on the roof,
the window's getting dim, the wall 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!

A few short years can't make me old;
I feel I'm in my youth.
Eternity lies just ahead,
a life of joy and truth.
I'm going to live forever there;
life will go on ~ it's grand! My "house" is getting old?
You don't understand!

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 mixed my "house" with me!

Love you.
Aunt Chrissy.