Three quarters of a century old is mom.
Whereas, half a century plus am I.
How quickly I have aged gives me a qualm,
but one good thing - I now can't multiply!
And right behind my mom I'm following. . .
The white hairs keep appearing; it's with dread
I picture myself one day swallowing
my food with dentures stuck inside my head!
Mom always was athletic till her knees
gave out. . . and walking fast she does no more.
But luckily, she has no grave disease.
By scrubbing floors she made her poor knees sore.
But I don't "stoop" to drudgery. Knock wood!
At least my knees might possibly stay good.
For Black Eyed Susan's Aging Poetry Contest