The following original poem expresses personal admiration for my ninety three year old mother’s courageous struggles to remain independent as she copes with serious physical/ emotional challenges these days. I am particularly impressed how my mother can occupy productively her “senior” spare time by crocheting unique dolls for family/friend distribution.

“In the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.” (Abraham Lincoln)

Bruised Scrape From Your Fall

Could Send Most To Tears

But You Always Stand Tall

Seeing Hope In Your Fears

 

With Each Step You Now Take

You Beat Time At It’s Game

So Unbattered By Ache

With New Wisdoms To Aim

 

Know No Dreads You Must Chase

For Each Breath Soothes Reborn

So Dance Off To Sleep’s Pace

You Will Always See Morn

As so many others I observe at her senior housing center face similar challenges, I urge those who have read this blog to engage in meaningful discussion of humane solutions to our aging crisis in this country.