Don't fear the creeper

I refuse to fear the hand of time
Drawing my tits down and greying my hair.
I refuse to be horrified when wrinkles appear.

I will not have cosmetic surgery, no, I will not!
But will accept it with a graceful air
When men in their twenties no longer stare.

As my bones groan and my joints creak
And my eyes and my ears pack it in,
I will be happy, as others have been.

So do not tell me that age is a monster,
Devouring my glories one by worthless one;
The golden glow of evening precedes the setting sun.