A  Little  Mixed  Up

Just a line to say I'm living,

That I'm not among the dead,

'Though I'm getting more forgetful,

and mixed up in the head.

I've gotten used to my arthritis,

To my dentures I'm resigned,

I can manage my bifocals . . .

But, oh God, I miss my mind!

For sometimes I can't remember,

When I stand at the foot of the stair

If I must go up for something,

Or if I've just come down from there.

And before the 'frig' so often

My poor mind is filled with doubt,

Have I just put some food away,

Or have I come to take some out?

And there are times when it is dark

With my nightcap upon my head,

I don't remember if I'm retiring,

Or just getting out of bed.

So, if it's my turn to write you,

There's no need for getting sore,

I may think that I have written

And do not want to be a bore.

So remember that I love you,

And I wish that you were near -

But now it is nearly mail time

So I must say "Goodby", my dear.

There I stood at the mailbox

With my face so very red.

Instead of mailing you my letter . . .

I opened it instead.

Author Unknown

at least, I don't remember who did it.