Just a line to say that I am living,
that I'm not among the dead;
though I'm getting more forgetful
and mixed up in my head.
I got wed to my arthritis
to my dentures I'm resigned;
I can manage with my bifocals
but, God, I miss my mind!
For sometimes I can't remember
when I stand at the foot of the stairs;
If I must go up for something
or have I just come down from there?
And before the fridge so often
my poor mind is filled with doubt;
Have I just put food away, or
have I just come to take some out?
And there is time when it is dark
with my nightcap on my head;
I don't know if I'm retiring
or just getting out of bed.
So, if it's my turn to write you,
there is no need for getting sore;
I may think that I have written
and don't want to be a bore.
So, remember that I love you
and wish that you were near;
but now it's nearly mail time,
must say goodbye, my dear.
Here I stand beside the mailbox
with a face so very red;
instead of mailing your letter
I have opened it instead!
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