Sometimes things get on top of me, walking down the road
As if my back was bending under a heavy load
But the weight moves round my head, in rings of constant throbs
At times it makes this full grown man resort to painful sobs
I take BP pills and more for epilespy each day before I eat
Then shop, walk the dog and housework with heavy feet.
I'm not allowed to iron or swim, incase I drown or set fire alight
As if I'd been sectioned to a silent place so dark at night
But depression I must make clear is not my daily plight
Music, books and poetry, a loving wife at the end of the day
And e-mails from two daughters often come my way
Then I see a white stick, a mobile seat and dementia
And know my troubles are nothing.
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