Am I Getting Old Poem by DEEPAK KUMAR PATTANAYAK

Am I getting old

The sun is bright;
The sky is blue,
The air is clear,
And all things look new,
And all things look rare,
The trees, the leaves,
The buds and the flowers,
Love, hope, joy, sorrow,
My bosoms, near and dear,
All do care and my choristers
Me neither desert nor stand cold,
And yet, of late, I often ask
Am I getting old?
Though I often talk a long,
Of golden days all along,
Of crowds and noises I can’t stand,
Of changing taste in food,
Of carelessness in my dress,
Of growing apathy to rhymes,
Of growing dimness in eyes,
In my laugh and in my sighs,
And growing frugality of my gold,
And a thousand instances stand
To proclaim the truth,
That I am getting old.
Yet, I often ask all around,
Am I getting old....?