Oft times of late, throughout the day,
I  wonder, if somehow I’ve lost my way,
as day after day, hours slip quickly by,
and well laid plans seemingly go awry?
Despite intent, I accomplish naught,
except indulgence in a passing thought.

On awakening, aware day has dawned,
I remain recumbent, as schemes spawned
overnight race pell-mell through my head,
whilst I analyse their merits.  Lying abed
allows me to focus upon the possibility
that some, ever dependant upon my ability,

may be suited for a new poetic exercise?
But all too soon, I see it is time to rise,
so thought is put aside for there’s no time
to sit and consider composing a  rhyme.
Though opportunity knocks, I must dress
and be about my daily chores. Doubtless

all memory of what I proposed to do
will disappear, but this is nothing new,
for age determines memory is fleeting.
Thoughts that can set our muse beating
vanish long before opportunity arrives
and today will be as others in our lives

of late, as we live our ‘elder’ years.
As memory fails, laughter and tears
often allow us to cover our chagrin
and discomposure, but soon we begin
to find, as memory diminishes more,
amusement wanes, and we deplore

our weakness, and inwardly retreat
further into ourselves, afraid to meet
others to socialise. When seen bemused
by vague memory, some are amused
as we desperately scramble to find
rationale within our incoherent mind.

For inability to recall a familiar name
or maintain a train of thought, I blame
advancing years, as do we all at times.
Still I will persist in composing rhymes,
when I remember what it is I would say,
and my concentration does not stray!

Rhymer.  November 14th, 2020.