Sunday, June 3, 2012


         Who knows if I’ll be like him, by and by?
         May I be spared that loss of memory,
         The torpor and the tedium that he
         Sums up each hour with a sigh—“Oh, my!”
         Alzheimer’s and dementia make him cry
         Sad silent tears of longing to be free
         From his now cabined, cribbed mentality,
         And yet his only exit is to die.

         What lesson can I draw from such a case
         Besides the obvious carpe diem theme,
         Or the inexorability of fate?
         Mortality is destined for our race;
         To hope for otherwise is but a dream—
         What may remain is what I might create.