Incurable

I tell you, it’s humbling – this processing years.
I used to be sturdy and durable.
But now I bruise easily, doddering nears,
and I know the slide is incurable.
It’s fortunate no one needs means – all my dears
are solvent and I’m not insurable.
But maybe I’ll land on a level plateau
and rally for more – I don’t know.

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

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