The days come and go,
Bringing spirits high and low.
They pass slowly and fast,
Every day different from first to last.
They evade my shaking grip,
Now weakened along with my hip.
They evade my poor memory,
Leaving only frailness and worry.
The nights and days are a blend,
And I wonder in which my life to spend.
Life has rushed passed my sight,
And from it I only took nothing more than a bite.