My Grandmother’s Scrapbook is made up of little tidbits she thought were inspiring or funny. She found them in letters, mail, newspapers and even church bulletins. I love flipping through the scrapbook just to see the little things that caught her attention. Here’s one of my favorite poems:
Just a line to say I’m living
That I’m not among the dead
That I’m getting more forgetful
And mixed up in the head.
For sometimes I can’t remember
When I stand at the foot of the stairs
If I must go up for something
Or if I just came down from there.
And before the Fridge so often
My poor mind is filled with doubt
Have I just put some food away
Or have I come to take some out.
And there are times when it’s dark outside
With my night cap on my head
I don’t know if I’m retiring
Or just getting out of bed.
So if it’s my time to write you
There’s no need for getting sore
I may think I’ve already written
And don’t want to be a bore.
So remember I still love you
And wish you were here
But it’s nearly mail time
So I must say “Goodbye dear”.
There I stood beside the mailbox
With my face so very red
Instead of mailing your letter
I opened it instead.
She didn’t have an author or title listed for this poem. I did a little digging online to see if I could find out who wrote it but didn’t have much luck. Every time I came across it, it was without an author. There seemed to be a couple different versions of the poem and maybe another stanza or two that mine is missing. Do you know who wrote it?