Another stanza about an incident from my week.
November verse 3: Ageing
She fell again today. No broken
bones this time, but something gave.
She called my phone, all calmly spoken:
‘Help. I’m stuck. Please come and drive
me home.’ No time for noes or maybes.
Growing old is not for babies.
Parkinson’s is crueller still.
We all go when we get a call.
Friends would once go dancing, singing,
up to usher in the dawn,
greet fate with our collective scorn.
But now time’s chariot comes winging,
we know when we face the gun
it’s one for all and all for one.
A sober realisation that youth (totally enjoyed in its time of carefree ability) has passed: now comes the awareness, the necessity – of being careful and admitting to frailties and calling for assistance. I like the Dumas reference!