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Rated: E · Book · Death · #957364
Poems about the old and ageing--their thoughts, hopes, pains and prayers.
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#483302 added February 26, 2007 at 10:51pm
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WITHERED HANDS
WITHERED HANDS



Withered hands and wrinkled face,
Of emotion, not a trace;
Half asleep and half awake,
Living only for his sake.


That is what becomes a man,
When he is four score and ten.
He can’t hear and he can’t talk;
Without a stick he can’t walk.

His step is no longer bold;
He can’t stand a touch of cold.
Ten steps are for him a mile;
Empty, toothless is his smile.

That’s what I will be one day.
God, from this keep me away.


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M C Gupta
24 January 2007


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