Cost of ... time

We are simple folk, old and tired.
We weep none, and sing much. 
That’s all we have, now that’s the truth.
Sit back, take a nap and be you called, old fart.
Our hearing is slight, our speech muffled, 
Our sight dimmed by the cost of time.
Memory takes a back seat, 
we try hard to be neat.
Our clothing, off color and mostly don’t even fit
Society looks the other way as we stroll by.
Only time will tell, when their turn rises to the helm.
Our fingers bend and legs swell, toes seize together, oh well.
Old age thrives, It’s a living hell.
A welcomed sleep, without a peep.
Time will tell, the time will come
Rejoice, old man rejoice