Covid Recovery at 95

Her skin is as thin as a wet paper bag.
It tears from the tiniest bump.
She’s paler than ghostly, too tired to nag,
and weekly we find a new lump.
She’s losing fat where she’d be better off plump
(although she likes fleeing weight’s curse).
She’s often confused and she talks like a grump,
but thinks the alternative’s worse.

This entry was posted in Aging, Family, Health, Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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