Travails Of My Aunt Poem by Gil Tee

Travails Of My Aunt



I telephoned my aunt because I know she's not been well,
But will she see a doctor? will she hell!
Tho' I love her to bits, she's as stubborn as it gets;
I was just wasting my breath, the truth to tell.

She's far too independent for a woman of her years
And she needs more help than she will ever own;
Unlike you and me she has no virtual company
And I think she spends too many hours alone.

Still I'm glad I rang her up and had one final chat,
Even tho' I couldn't make her change her mind.
She asked about the fam'ly and I put her straight on that;
I reassured her we're all doing fine.

But I got my tenses wrong when I started on this song -
The past imperfect might have been more right.
When I talked with that old girl, she sounded weary of the world:
Now she's gone gentle into that Goodnight.

A woman of her age had no strength left to rage
Against the dismal dying of the light.

She just lay down and died with nobody at her side
And no fire left to keep her from the cold.
She just lay down and died with that emptiness inside
That comes to everyone who's grown too old.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success