Poetry Diary 8. Song I haven’t been able to get out of my head: “Mother’s Little Helper,” by the Rolling Stones, purely for its line “What a drag it is getting old.” Reason for this: we’re dealing with sad stuff re: a beloved, aging relative. The situation makes us think about how to prepare for our own old age too. Bleh. I’ve been playing that game when one opens a poetry book at random to try to find one that will help me emotionally deal w/ the situation. No luck yet, though after giving up the random-game and looking more systematically, I found this one by Robert Friend in Good Poems for Hard Times. It contains a good attitude to aim for re: one’s own end:
They tell me I am going to die.
Why don’t I seem to care?
My cup is full. Let it spill.