poetic scribble by Bob Axell 2007


What will I do?
When I'm sixtytwo?
When my hair turns grey
And I can barely move

Will I get me a maid?
Or a substitute?
To keep taking care of what I've cared
For the past 50 years

Then spend my days shedding tears
For the next 40 years
Like all elders do
Live a living nightmare

Or should I run around
Until I fall to the ground
Live a life full of life
And go down without sound

I think I'll chose choice two.