It's Not the Golden Years

What's a person to do I implore?
I can't ignore
Or
Restore
My father's body to what it was like before.
The older he gets the more 
He seems to the youngins a bore.
He's not obsolete.
His chores are harder to complete.
He does get so upset
He could roar.
Furthermore
The pain fills him with regrets.
He can barely get up each day from under 
His coverlet.
Getting up from a chair 
You hear snap, crackle, and pop forget
About going up and down stairs
Or
Even out the back door
To explore
He is sore!
Yet, each day he buckles it in so he can 
Have the satisfaction of saying he may 
Not be like he was before
It took some time but he did finish 
His chores.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2018

Poem

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Turner Avatar
July 14, 2018 at 2:17 AM
Some age more gracefully that others but eventually we will all just be old...hopefully:) I enjoyed reading about my future, Bette:)
Bavington  Avatar
July 14, 2018 at 1:21 PM
We all age differently. Nobody has the same thing going on. The only thing we have to look forward to is like you said. We will all be old one day. Thank you for visiting my site. I hope you have a great day.
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