At sixty-three, what a hoot it’ll be, With laughter like sunshine, hearts full and free. Discount booze and wine pour, toasts in the air, We toast to the years, each one debonair. “Fret not,” says the bottle with a wink in its eye, “For age is but numbers; fun never runs dry.” The joke’s on the old, “Ha! Old? Oh, please!” For blondes have more fun, with jokes up their sleeves. In life’s grand parade, age takes a back seat, For spirit outshines the years on our feet. Sixty-three, young at heart, and still on the run— Old is just a myth; the fun's just begun!