I wrote this poem in 1981 after talking with an old man alone and in a mental hospital.
Ode of our Elderly.
Too old to work, too young to die; God dang, I'm starting to cry.
My wife? A few years ago she passed away; what the hell can I do today?
My son has grown up and has sons of his own; next week he'll be moving, they bought a new home.
Yes my son will be moving to quite far away, and I'll be so lonely, but well, it's okay.
My life has been good and the Lord has been kind;
I know soon it will end and I really won't mind.
Yes, I'm old and I'm gray, and I'll add if I may;
Do you care? Will you help? Then please come see me some day.
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|Reviewed by ~ Holly Harbridge (Reader)
|A very strong write about the truths and our beloved elderly who deserve so much more! Holly|
|Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner
|Short. Powerful. Rips a hole in the soul: all the elderly in nursing homes, with no one to give a damn, abandoned, all dressed up and no where to go....thank you for this, Glen. Dang shame: we'll be there, someday. Would we want this to happen to us??? Needs to be shouted from the rooftops!
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla. *tears*
|Reviewed by George Carroll
|This is increasing rapidly as the population of elderly grows. Sad|