My bones are old, so I’ve been told;
It’s
osteoporosis.
Accepting
that if I go splat
I’m
done – that’s the prognosis.
So
when it’s cold, I’m not so bold
To
walk if streets are icy.
One
little slip may crack my hip;
To
chance it might be dicey.
And
so today, I had to weigh
Conditions
‘fore my journey
Or
I’d go whoosh, land on my tush
And
end up on a gurney.
My
normal route I was astute
Enough
to see could trip me
So
I took stock and ‘round the block
I
walked and I was slip-free.
When
I was young, I must have clung
To
thoughts of never aging
But
now, alas, I watch my ass
And
every step I’m gauging.
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