What’s it like to forget the name of your mother?
And forget sometimes that you have a brother?
What’s it like to be full of stubborn pride,
then someday need assistance in cleaning off your hide?
What’s it like to need a wall to simply take a step?
And when you forget your birthday, they say you need some help?
If everyone could feel the shame of having to grow old,
they could be more understanding instead of being cold.
9-24-89 Written by Gail Brookshire
(by the grace of God)
PS… Cruel Irony