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I am getting older,

please handle me with care.

Come talk to me awhile,

I’m not so far from there.

I’m losing my self confidence;

my speech makes no sense.

Please come calm me by your kind words

whenever I am tense.

Yes, I may seem grouchy

in everything I say;

It is because of the pain I feel

that I act this way.

Just like a squeeky door needs oil

to work again like new.

So I need your visits

to help me make it through.

Remember its my last days

and some day soon I’ll  die;

Let it be by your kindness

that I remember you by.

Consider well what I say to you:

One day you will be like me:

Struggling and so full of pain

and old person you will be.

© Joy Pachowicz

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