It’s Not Our Age

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Just a line to say we are living

That we’re not among the dead,

Though we’re getting more forgetful

And more mixed up in our head.

Sometimes we can’t remember

At the bottom of the stairs,

If we must go up for something

Or if we’ve just come down from there.

We’re before the fridge so often

And our mind is full of doubt –

Have we just put food away

Or have we come to take it out?

And there are times when it is dark

Our nightcaps on our head,

We don’t know if we’re retiring

Or just getting out of bed!

If it’s our turn to write to you

There’s no need of getting sore,

For we may think that we have written

And we don’t want to be a bore.

Just remember we do love you

We wish that you were here

Now that it’s nearly mail time

We must sign off, my dear.

We’re standing at the mailbox

With a face that’s near beet red

For instead of mailing you our letter

We’ve opened it instead!







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