Though you're not blonde and hay just makes you sneeze
And, frankly dear, your hair is turning gray
A quick jog 'round the block can make you wheeze
Sometimes you start to sweat and turn bright red
At other times you're pale as a ghost
The wrinkles multiply on your forehead
When you get flustered by a Facebook post
Eternal Summer? Look at the Beach Boys
Those guys are boring, moldy, bald and bland
These days their music sounds like a quaint noise
The surf of time turns rock stars into sand
But though our Winter days are coming fast
Your presence is as sweet as fresh-mown grass
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