Losing the plot

It seems to me I’m stupid, dim witted, dozy, daft

As age begins to rob me of the essence of my craft.

The gift I have of language, developed over years

Is gradually eroding, one of my greatest fears.

I try in vain to capture, and use, the perfect word

But similes escape me, fly, like a mocking bird.

A river of my best ideas flows gently out to sea

A metaphor for loss that shows what’s happening to me.

No longer with the freedom to choose, invent and write

Vocabulary fading, my mind losing the fight

To cling on to my memory, to produce and create

A work that is commended, but I fear it is too late.bookwormclipart

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juliecroundblog

I am a retired schoolteacher now writing novels in Worthing where I live with my husband. I record for the Sussex Coast Talking News (Voice of Progress) and am the publicity secretary for the Worthing Friendship Centre. I also give talks on my life and works to local groups.

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