I got the mail from the mailbox
Then noticed some trash across the street.
I checked both ways and crossed,
To retrieve the tiny cinnamon whiskey bottle someone had tossed.
I came back across and threw the trash in my can,
I got back in my car and then,
As I started out my driveway I asked,
Did I get my mail yet and I laughed.
Sometimes I worry about my brain,
As I looked at the mail next to me again.
I think about what will be,
When I forget I forgot I lost my memory.
When I no longer think it’s funny and no longer laugh,
‘Cause instead of full I’m functioning at half,
And A Tear came to my eye,
As I let a husband help his wife across the parking lot of the pharmacy.
Wondering if that will one day be me,
How long before I can’t move so well, I guess only time will tell.
About tomorrow I do my best not to worry,
I will accomplish my tasks at hand,
keep in mind not to hurry,
and March to the rhythm of my own band.
It will all unfold
at its own pace
I wonder how long
before I fall on my face,
and when asked what happened
have no recall, not even a trace.