THE MISERIES OF THE FORGETFUL MIDDLE YEARS
One story I’ve received in a variety of forms lately is this one that was sent in by Rev. Donald E. Worch of Valparaiso, Indiana. Dear Cousin: 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.
For sometimes I can’t remember
When I stand at foot of stairs,
If I must go up for something,
Or I’ve just come down from there.
And before the “Frig” so often
My poor mind is filled with doubt,
Have I just put food in there,
Or have I come to take some out?
And there are times when it’s dark out
With my nightcap on my head,
I don’t know if I’m retiring
Or just getting out of bed.
If it’s not my turn to write you,
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