My old uncle is long and narrow. And when he starts to rise After his after-dinner nap I think to myself He may do it this once more But this is the last time. He lets one leg slip off the lounge And fall to the floor. But still he lies And looks to God through the ceiling. The next thing is to get to his outside elbow And so to a sitting posture And so to his feet. I avert my eyes for him till he does it. Once I said from the heart, "What is it, Uncle? -- Pain or just weakness? Can't we do anything for it?" He said "It's Specific Gravity" "Do you mean by that that it's grave?" "No, not as bad as that yet, child, But it's the Grave coming on." Then I knew he didn't mean Seriousness When he said Gravity. Old age may not be kittenish But it is not necessarily serious. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HAUNTED OAK by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 7 by PHILIP SIDNEY THE SANDPIPER by CELIA LEIGHTON THAXTER TO A HUMMING BIRD by GLADYS ARNE TWILIGHT AND DREAMS by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE FORGIVENESS by THORA MACCLARRAN BURGESS THE WATER LILY by MARY FRANCES MARSHALL BUTTS THE CHESS-PLAYER by GEORGE HERBERT CLARKE UPON TWO GREENE APRICOCKES SENT TO COWLEY BY SIR CRASHAW by RICHARD CRASHAW |