I was the proverbial busy bee
Up in the attic down on my knee
Brush the piano feed the hare.
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Stevie Taite sent me over to have a look at your work. Absolutely correct was she: -) Stirring words indeed
though old age can be frightening, it is one unavoidable truth all have to face.your poem has a message to all of us, to take care of oldpeople, so our children learn the same.i admire your sensibility, on touching a subject like this. good write.......ritty
This trend of Home for aged is so pathetic....while aging itself is too horribly painful..your poem is soul stirring....and thanks for your comment on my 'daybreak'
Sad but so true to life. Not an easy time when one gets old and worn out. You did a great job of description with my favorite type of writing style. A '10! ' Best Wishes, Marilyn
A sad commentary on the process of aging. I picture a room full of rocking chairs and memories. The inhabitants no longer living, merely existing and counting the hours. This is home of a different kind, and yet it is where many will end up. Thought provoking, and difficult to think about. Linda
Home is the place where we can say we are free within the walls......but one thing that should not reside at any home is loneliness.......the pain of an aging lonely man is brought out in realistic words.....! ..
An appropriate title on a well thought out poem. No matter the situation, home is where the heart is. Thank you for sharing.
Well penned sir, a tender touch adds a huge impact to your golden lines.....great piece 10+++
Well penned sir, a tender touch adds a huge impact to your golden lines.....great piece 10+++
Saadat, a Very beautiful & touching poem, well capturing the loneliness of the elderly who depend upon the paid relatives [Nurses etc], reminds us of the many elderly in our own familes who wait for our visit. Angel
Excellent write of the ravages of time...made a very touching read...thank you...Fi 10+++
Your poem is permeated with philosophy of life. it's candle burning slowly..fleeting and last flicker is death. Last couplet bears plaintive tone and reminds me of Macbeth: 'To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more.'