Just a line 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 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 some food away, or
Have I come to take some out?
And there is time when it is dark
With 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's 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 so,
I must say goodbye, Dear.
There I stand beside the mailbox,
With a face so very red . . .
Instead of mailing you my letter,
I'VE OPENED IT INSTEAD!
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