A Riff on Kevin East's fine Poem: Morris Minor
Young man I do appreciate your kindness at the curb,
So good of you to aid me there without a pleading word;
The indignity of growing old: you become once more a child,
You lack a strong commanding voice, you get by on a smile;
You grow so weak a curb becomes a problematic trial;
You move to lift a feeble leg, an inch becomes a mile;
So thank you for the guiding hand, I practically am blind;
Do you need a lift somewhere, driving clears my mind.
David McLansky's Other Poems
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