As we grow older
small invisible
pores form in our skulls
and from them (like holes
in water tanks) drip
thoughts and ideas,
and memories of
recent times (being
closer to surface
of the mind), and wit
and concentration,
and names of people
once known like brothers
and sisters, and new
appointments, and old
research written by
me (apparently).
Quite soon the tank of
my mind I thought so
full will empty, like
dams drying in this
fearsome drought of my
old age.
nomdeplume 