Growing Old

No man is an island, as the saying goes,
people who need people, is the songsters prose.
each one is a person, all humanity
with our dreams and longings, similarities.
now I’m old and feeble, independent? me?
what I wish I cannot, causing agony.
but there’s much more to it, is it such a crime
to be so forgetful, and long past my prime?
I keep trying daily to do all I should,
but the hours it takes me, I could be of wood.
once I could bend freely quickly passed the time,
then, it was plain sailing, now, I can’t survive
unless someone helps me, I feel like a child
with needing help daily, and so sad inside.
feeling such a nuisance, it’s so hard to bear,
being such a burden, making others care.
When they’re kind and gentle, patient as can be,
then I know they’re loving, genuine you see.
it makes such a difference the attitude shown,
makes me feel a person worthy to be known.