His hair is silver a distinguished look, I think.
His grin is soft, yet his eyes are sharing a few hint.
He starts every morning with a bowl of cereal, and jelly on toast
Finishing it off with his favorite cup of coffee, yet leaving most.
He’s used to his arthritis, well, I should say theirs little complaint
He has no dentures to lose or give away
He can manage his bifocals, when they can be found
Then theirs those awful days when only he frowns.
Sometime he can’t remember, which is upsetting to him at times
But since he doesn’t remember, he’ll continues as if things are fine.
He goes to the refrigerator for ice cream or milk, on the spur of the moment he
would surprise us with something else.
It seems he travels a hundred miles across a bare floor,
Readying for that special moment to go elsewhere.
He has his bags packed, for cold and sunny days.
A bag of toiletry, foods while this cycles is always on replay.
There’s times he talks to people who are not really here
It changes the looks on peoples faces, as well as the rooms atmosphere
Clueless he is, in his dream world it seems
Then other moments his mind is here with you and me.
Then there’s times when dark settles in and he wants to go home,
Otherwise he’s always checking the doors and looking for another level floor.
He wakes time after time asking if it’s morning or night
He’ll then ask is it time to get up. Or is everything alright.
With all this happening he has good days and bad,
And like us all he could be happy or sad.
As the minutes and hours total to make a day
May his happy birthdays, be good in many many ways.
Malia Plevney 