Classic Poetry


Just a line to say l’m living,
that l’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 food away, or
have I come to take some out.

And there’s 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’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 must say goodbye dear.

 Well, here I stand beside the mail box,
with a face of cherry red.
Instead of mailing you my letter,
I have opened it instead.

I wish I knew who wrote that. It was a favorite of my father, and his older brothers. They would mail empty envelopes to each other from time to time, just to see what would happen. Often, the other would send another copy of this well-copied poem back to get a laugh.