If I am eighty years old, And my knees complain all day, And I forget what I was saying Halfway through what I was going to say, If my glasses disappear While sitting on my nose, And I call the cat by your name, Well… heaven only knows. If my hair has left the building, And my teeth have joined the same, If I need a little help Just remembering your name, I’ll still reach for your hand When the evening settles in, Because after all these years, You’ll still be my favorite grin. And if I forget the little things, The dates, the place, the time, I hope I never lose the memory That your heart once found mine. So if I am eighty years old, A little slower, slightly bent, I’ll still choose you, every day— And call that eighty years well spent.
