You tell me I'm 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 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 just don't understand!

The dweller in my little "house"

Is young and bright, I say;

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've mixed my house with me!

Submitted by Otis Rainwater