On My Right Elbow

I have no memory of growing old,
But now the mirror says my hair is grey,
And there are afternoons my legs give way.
Sometimes I find my fingers have grown cold,
My brow is hot, and as the days unfold
The aches expand, up from my feet of clay
To my eyelashes, and my muscles say
It's time to check for pressure marks and mould.

What I remember is the way I felt,
The way we danced, the way we got along,
Intrepid, standing tall, unbowed and strong,
But I awoke this morning with a welt
On my right elbow, and my heart was dealt
A sudden blow. I knew something was wrong.