BIRTHDAY VERSE FOR MYSELF

Today I stand, aged two years and fifty,

With experience and wisdom aplenty.

It's the perfect age, isn't it?
Not the time yet for mental deficit.

Thinking of things all weighty:

Can eternal youth be of any possibility?

Or is age really a bottomless pit?

With death's assassin waiting to make a hit?

Is aging a lack of spirit or vitality?

Or the DNA sliding in their integrity?

Maybe, it's a breakdown in our repair kit,
Or the mitochondria being out of wit.
 

Perhaps, it is an inevitability,

That after years of faithful duty,

Our stem cells just want to idly sit.

If so, we shouldn't blame them for it.

The evolutionists have this certainty,

About our genetic contract's warranty.

For extension it will never grant nor permit.

So, our wrinkles can never hope to remit.

For the grand scheme of eternity,

Is to deceive us to have a sex party.

By making mankind's genetic refinement legit,

It allows a better next generation to visit.

So, as our body gets more frosty,

We feel obliged to accept the indignity.

Yet, though my joints are now decrepit,

I defy them with a new theory to posit!

I think if I still feel youthful when I'm ninety,

My success at CR* will become a reality,

What a massive message it'll be then to transmit.
For immortality, I'll surely be fit.
(*CR = caloric restriction)