The only crush, I want at all,
Is the crush of grapes, in the fall.
Those ripened grapes, luscious on the vine,
Will soon be, my supply of wine.

I don't want to say this
But out of the gloom,
Senility, most certainly
Has entered the room.

The crispy air, nips at my nose
and as I walk, I feel my toes
starting to tingle, searching for heat,
I must put socks upon my feet.
Not liking to wear socks, not at all,
be it Spring, Winter, Summer or Fall.

Don't be afraid,
She said to me,
For life or death
Will always be
One that will
Soon, set us free.
The pain I feel
Deep within my soul,
Feels like I'm on the
Edge of the rabbit hole.
So here we go, Alice,
Without command.
Down the hole
To Wonderland.