Listen to poem:
Decrepitude Advances
"...though nothing can bring back
the time of splendor in the grass
of glory in the flower..."
---Wm. Wordsworth
"...in sickness and in health/
'til death do us part..."
Your mortal flesh decays
while mental failings mount
and I, powerless, mourn
your losses, in silent grief --
no slowing of the ravages
and time's neglect --
little chance, now, to correct
the many errors of the past.
I guard your fitful sleep,
remark upon your wrinkled brow
and sparse remaining hair,
hear hesitant, labored breath,
and determine to bear
(for how much longer?)
willful, spiteful actions,
bitter barbs, prompted by
what you really -- really! --
know -- by what we both
cannot accept and
refuse to voice aloud.
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