As a small boy, I had tuberculosis and all
the other illnesses one can have, I was thin a weakling
no thought I would live long.
The doctor had prescribed a half a bottle of cream
I could only gulp a handful and gave the rest to my sister.
Then when about thirteen all this changed I ate well
got the energy to run, cycling and football, I also tried boxing
which I was lousy at.
I grew taller than my siblings and thrived.
When in my twenties my brother died of a brain tumor,
and a few years later my sister.
My mother sank into a depression she was unable
to get rid of her loss was.
I had the time of my life and thought it was going
to last forever.
I’m in my eighties now and ponder why should
I live so long when the strong perished?