Now sick with age,
That disease for which
There is no cure,
No care but carelessness,
Nor time enough.
Now sick with age
And left with remembering—
That salve of memory,
Being my only respite—
Forgetting is the greatest fear.
Now sick with age,
The greater fear is not death
But to be forgotten even by myself;
And to be left alive
Without a past.
Now sick with age,
Infirm, and weakened by it;
The pain in my body and head
Is simply the way it will be
until I am dead.
Now sick with age
Easy rhyme cannot hide
The truth of when I died;
When even the small importance
of what I said was no longer heard.
Now sick with age
The little that I’ve been
Is lost right before me;
What I cared for most,
Stolen, before my eyes.
And now sick with age
I ask, did I do well?
Did I deserve the chance I had?
Or did I lose the chance
To make it worth remembering?