My eyes are fine; they are just printing words small.
I just use a walking stick to seem stately and tall.

Nothing is wrong with my sense of smell.
My ears are fine if you don’t whisper but yell.

The wrinkles are just laugh lines; they will go away.
It is fashion that has turned my hair from black to grey.

It’s the cold, not age that is stiffening my knees.
I like to hum as I walk; it’s not a wheeze.

What extra kilos? My scale is broken down.
If I try, I can still fit into my wedding gown.

My bones don’t creak; my shoes are new.
My memory is sharp. Oh, do I know you?