Just a note to say I’m living

That I’m not among the dead,

Though I’m getting more forgetful

And mixed up in the head.

I got used to my arthritis,

To my dentures I’m resigned.

I can manage my bifocals

But goodness 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 just come down from there?

And before the fridge so often,

My poor mind’s filled with doubt.

Have I just put food away

Or have I come to take some out?

So if it’s my turn to write you

There’s no need for getting sore;

I may think that I have written

And don’t want to be a bore.

Just remember that I love you

And wish that you were near.

Now it’s nearly mail time

So I must say goodbye, my dear.

Here I sit beside the outbox

With my face so very red!

Instead of sending you my letter,

I have deleted it instead!

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