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Tomorrow is another day
of many for the young
of not enough
for twilight folk
Who count how many spun
Squint the eyes
Don't look too close
The mirror doesn't lie
The waist that once was twenty two
Oh my, I think I'll cry
With glasses perched upon my nose
I'll join AARP
Count sevens from one hundred
(But stop at twenty three)
How silly is this vanity
When peacock days are dead
I'll take my gray, my wrinkles too
My badge of years well-lived
And settle for my bed
ALTERNATE LAST STANZA:
Three cheers for silly vanity
The peacock has it right
I'll call Jenny, go to Curves
I'll Botox, lift, and dye
And won't give up the fight
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