Many of us, as time passes,
Look back through rose-colored glasses,
And speak in awe of “good old days,”
Disparaging most present ways.

When we were born doesn’t matter,
Even if life is getting better;
When folks turn old and gray,
Nostalgia still holds sway.

Folks in the future will reminisce,
Telling their kids how they miss
These “good old days” so full of bliss.