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