The following poem was written by William W. Arbuckle 26 Dec. 1942 while serving in the Air Force in N. Africa.

Now life's just a gamble, the experts all say
One brief fling and our wings we all fold
Yet when we're on the brink
We all seem to think
"Gee, but it's hard to grow old."

We drink deep of joy, petty troubles we face
But the biggest one so we are told
Is the fact that we hate
To bow down to fate
And admit that it's hard to grow old.

In our 'teens we all meet the girl we adore
And we all try our best her to hold
But one thing we forgot
It's a startling thought
The fact that it's hard to grow old

We marry, have children, and reach middle age
And those words stand out ever so bold
We hear them at play
And their cries seem to say
"The folks find it hard to grow old."

When the family's grown up, and you're sitting alone
With a wife whose heart is pure gold
She's old and she's gray
But your heart seems to say
"It's not very hard to grow old."

So don't feel too bad, if you look with regret
On the good life you tried hard to mould
Just think of the fun
And the good things you've done
And you'll find that it's nice to grow old.

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