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
gaillovesgodspoetry 
Beautifully written.
If you don’t mind, we would love it if you could register on our site and share your content there.
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PTL! Thank you for your kind words and your kind offer, Sadah. I am uncomfortable with registering for anything, but you are welcome to reblog. Thank you again. God loves you!
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Thank you. But we don’t reblog.
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That’s fine. Praying good things for your blog. God bless you!
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