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THE COUNTY HOME

 

On a cold wet November night

In a small Midwestern town

A man sits at the county home

In a worn hospital gown

 

He stares across the rainswept lawn

Through a sheer dirty curtain

He knows he's not caught in a dream

That's the only thing that's certain

 

His thoughts are filled with a question

When old age took body and mind

Was it quick or painfully slow

That answer he'll never find

 

Yesterday is like tomorrow

And today is just the same

Trapped alone in a senile world

Only 'God' knows who's to blame

 

A body that seems never to work

A mind only now and then

I wonder who it was that said

The elder years are golden

Copyright © 1998-2023 George M. Noblitt.  All rights reserved.  Literature represented is the express property of George M. Noblitt and estate and any reproduction without written consent is expressly forbidden.
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