Growing Old Poem by Olga Horpe

A home for the elderly that’s what it says,
but what do we see when we go in the place.
A room full of people, yet each one alone
coming to terms with this place they call home.
Some with confusion frustration and fear
and wondering how they came to be here
too weary to speak, just the odd word or two
is this their life? After all they’ve been through.
Time has no meaning, each day is the same
They’re yesterdays people in life’s cruel game.
But we make decisions to place them in care,
Then we suffer their heartache each day they are there
But a home is the answer you hear people say
They’ve shelter, they’re warm, and they’re fed every day.
But is it enough? It may help them survive
But who’s going to help keep their spirits alive.
We must all make an effort and with them abide
We must all understand what they’re feeling inside
For they were just children who travelled with time
Don’t let them feel it’s the end of the line.
Just reassure them show that you care,
give them a strong hand to hold when you’re there.
Though caring’s not easy when patience runs thin
try to contain all your anger within.
Abide with confusion, abide with their fear,
just let them know that you’ll always be here
For caring and loving are really the same.
Lets all play a part in the ageing game.