Entitled,
A little mixed up.
Just a line to say I’m living
That I’m not amongst the dead
Even though I’m getting more forgetful
And mixed up in the head.
I.ve got used to my arthritis,
To my dentures I’m resigned,
I can manage my bifocals,
But God I miss my mind.
Sometimes I can’t remember,
When I stand at the foot of the stair
Have I got to 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 come to take some out.
And there are times 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 to you,
There’s no need to get sore
I may think that I have written
And don’t want to be a bore.
So, remember that I love you
And I wish that you were near
But now it’s nearly posty time
I must say goodbye my dear.
There I stood beside the post box
With a face so very red
Instead of mailing you my letter
I had opened it instead.
