Sunday, 21 June 2020

THE LETTER

Just a line to say I'm living, That I'm not among the dead Though I'm getting more forgetful And something's slipping in my head; I got used to arthritis, To my dentures I'm resigned. I can manage my bifocals, But oh, how much I miss my mind. For sometimes I cannot remember When I stand atop the stairs, If I must go down for something Or if I've just come up from there. And before the fridge, so often My mind is filled with nagging doubt. Have I just put food away, or Have I come to take some out. I called a friend not long ago, When they answered I just moaned. I hung up quickly without speaking, For I'd forgotten who I'd phoned. And when the darkness falls upon me I stand alone and scratch my head. I don't know if I'm retiring, Or just getting out of bed? Once I stood in my own bathroom, Wondering if I'd used the pot. I flushed it just in case I had And sat down just in case I'd not. So, now if it's my turn to write you. There's no need for getting sore It may be that I think I've written And don't need to write no more. Now I stand beside the mail box With a face so very red Instead of mailing you the letter I have opened it instead. Author ~ Unknown From a friend years ago ~ dee

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