Sunday, 11 December 2011

Old age


Written by my Mother - in - Law during one of her increasingly rare less un-lucid moments. She is in a (s)care home who do their limited best despite the fees they rake in. 

In another not so distant life she has been a published writer, artist and poet, local rather than national, also a linguist and fellow teacher and is fading from view. She is past her use-by date and only too aware of it.

Who knows the stories of the others, all women,  keeping our seats warm in the waiting room for death?



Old Age

Our bodies stiff
Head and neck so gently bent
Towards the earth

Strutting stumbling struggling through
Old age arrives
We feel, though we may not say, too old to be alive
Why do we often wish to die
Cut our throats and pass away
Not have another day spent struggling

Unseen unwanted
So it seems
Only really loved
Within our dreams

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