I sit by my window and look at the snow;

My door firmly closed.

Inside, it’s warm; outside, it’s cold.

When I was young and I was more bold

I would be out in it, having some fun;

I’d slide and I’d run.

But I’m getting old

And now I am scared that I’ll slip or I’ll fall.

I might break a hip; I won’t go out at all.

I’ll wait for the thaw.

When you get to my age it’s no fun any more.