“A poem is the very image of life expressed in its eternal truth.”
Percy Bysshe Shelley

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

I Ponder…

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Contemplation#mediaviewer/File:Maurice_Fillonneau_Contemplation.jpg

Is this really me
hobbling about and lurching,
rushing to bathrooms?

What happened to skills
at managing complex tasks,
a once fine mind asks.

How do I value
the me who remains despite
being diminished?