Middle-age is when you're sitting at home on a Saturday night and the telephone rings and you hope it isn't for you.
I'm like a backward berry, Unripened on the vine, For all my friends are fifty, And I'm only forty-nine.
Senescence begins And middle-age ends The day your descendants Outnumber your friends
At another year I would not boggle Except that when I jog I joggle.
The old men know when an old man dies.
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