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.
I so love the soul that speaks to me in your every word. So so perfect! xoxo
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
David McLansky stop meddling with my poems without my permission