In a very early poem, "Four Answers Above," written sometime in 1973-76, I broadly covered (oh dear, I've split an infinitive) the same theme albeit from a much gloomier point of view. And I was only in my twenties! I posted it on 23 December 2013; it is linked here.
---------------
Even though the young have all the luck,
Their wits, their strength,
Sheer stamina that goes to any length
To gain an edge, to earn a buck,
They still end up stuck.
Come midlife and there’s little left to suck
And see: there’s bills,
Alimony and redundant skills:
You may try a final dodge or duck,
But you still end up stuck.
Of age I’m speechless: you survive the ruck
And climb age’s heights
But find mere sickness, frailty and spites:
Death will giggle, its hand will pluck –
And you’ll know you are stuck.
====================
© August 2021
