The path, that I once did tread,
covered now with leaves all dead.
A path, both narrow and sometimes wide
we could walk until evening tide.
A path young people could meet,
now muffled with shuffling feet.
A most beautiful ground in the park,
sheltered with tree limbs and trunk bark.
Now on this site, this Winter's day,
no invitation needed, just stay away.

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