The cold air chews through my clothes,
gnawing on these old bones.
The air crisply attacks my nose
as I shiver with the coldness.
A warm hat on my head
with flaps to protect my ears.
Gloves with a warm lining
keep the fingers writing.
I don't like this Winter chill
especially when it's still Summer.

The time draws close these days I'm alive
for in a few days I will be eighty-five.
An age I never thought I would see
with my youthful display of debauchery.
Chasing women, drinking wine in cars,
spending many hours, drinking in bars.
But in my defense, I started to run
and realized, in running, I was still having fun.
More fun than anything, that I did before,
except playing soccer when a header I did score.

The scurrying of paws
across the floor,
meant that I wasn't alone,
not anymore.
Creatures with claws, gathered
to leap,
so I rose unsteadily
to my aged, old feet.
Turning around, I had a glance
seeing my two grand dogs
starting to prance.
Glad to see me, at least on that day
and they came up to me
as if to say, " we miss you grandpa"
please throw the ball today.

Oh my God, I think I see,
Dementia will be the death of me.
Not because I'm infected so,
But it has attacked someone I know