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 my head.
I got used to my arthritis,
to my dentures I’m resigned,
I can manage my bifocals,
but I sure do 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 is I just came 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?
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 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.”
Here I stand beside the mailbox
with face so very red—
instead of mailing your letter,
I have opened it instead!