When I am old and senile,
Stick me in a soft, faded chair in the sun
Where my tired eyes can see in the bright light.
Tuck me up in a blanket, and put in my
Trembling, thin and shaky hands an old favorite book
Well read in times of youth and middle age.
Then when I nod and sleep,
Or lose my place,
Or forget the meaning of a word or two,
Or find my eyes too weak to move on
It will not matter.
Old friends to dream of,
Memories of first acquaintance in the pages,
The places and times when I turned there for comfort
Will come and soothe the tired body
And enliven the soul.
That is why I am rereading now--
My neurons must write the paths of memory;
I am laying down treasures
For my fading age.