Today at the drugstore, the clerk was a gent. 
From my purchase this chap took off ten percent. 
I asked for the cause of a lesser amount; 
And he answered, "Because of the Seniors Discount."

I went to McDonald's for a burger and fries; 
And there, once again, got quite a surprise. 
The clerk poured some coffee which he handed to me. 
He said, "For you, Seniors, the coffee is free." 

Understand... I'm not old... I'm merely mature; 
But some things are changing, temporarily, I'm sure. 
The newspaper print gets smaller each day, 
And people speak softer... can't hear what they say. 

My teeth are my own (I have the receipt), 
And my glasses identify people I meet. 
Oh, I've slowed down a bit... not a lot, I am sure. 
You see, I'm not old... I'm only mature. 

The gold in my hair has been bleached by the sun. 
You should see all the damage that chlorine has done. 
Washing my hair has turned it all white, 
But don't call it gray... saying "blond" is just right.

My car is all paid for... not a nickel is owed. 
Yet a kid yells, "Old biddie... get off of the road!" 
My car has no scratches... not even a dent. 
Still I get all that guff from a punk who's "Hell bent." 

My friends all get older... much faster than me. 
They seem much more wrinkled, from what I can see. 
I've got "character lines," not wrinkles... for sure, 
But don't call me old... just call me mature. 

The steps in the houses they're building today 
Are so high that they take your breath all away; 
And the streets are much steeper than ten years ago. 
That should explain why my walking is slow. 

But I'm keeping up on what's hip and what's new, 
And I think I can still dance a mean boogaloo. 
I'm still in the running... in this I'm secure, 
I'm not really old... I'm only mature.

Poem by Maya Angelou