

A LITTLE MIXED UP
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.
I've gotten use to my arthritis,
To my dentures I'm resigned;
I can manage my bifocals,
But O'Gosh, How I miss my mind.
For sometimes I can't remember,
When I stand at the foot of the stairs;
If I must go up for something,
Or I've just come down from there.
And before the fridge, so often,
My poor mind is filled with doubt;
Have I just put food away,
Or have I come to take it out.
And there's times when it is dark,
With nightcap on my head;
I don't know If I'm retiring,
Or I'm just getting out of bed.
So, if it's my turn to write you,
There's no need of getting sore;
I may think I have written,
And don't want to be a bore.
So remember, I do love you,
And I wish that your were near;
But now it's time to mail,
So I must say goodbye dear.
There I stood by the mailbox,
With my face so very red;
Instead of mailing you my letter,
I opened it instead.