I've reworked this and added some verses. I have been reviewing my poems.
Days of Yore
Writing is fun and more than a hobby.
Thin legs and arms make me like Mr Blobby.
The vigour of old before medication
has sadly departed. It's left the station.
I sit at my keyboard typing my woe
and ponder this illness which is such a foe.
Not all is lost I retain my good humour.
It's better by far than having a tumour.
Tasks that I managed I now find are fraught
like lifting great weights without second thought.
Energy gone from this body now frail
Stamina likewise makes me sad when I fail.
Walks with my dog Rex, joyful and pure.
He's gone now like my strength, great days of yore.
Carefree enjoyment we frolicked for fun.
Memories made never to be undone.
Gone are the days when I powered up hills.
Speeding descents with very few spills.
Well muscled legs pushing mile after mile.
Such joy to be found from a life without guile.
Honest exertion with like minded friends.
Cycling with joy as I sped round the bends.
Never a care at speeds sixty or more
Dolomites, Pyrenees, Massive Central and more.
Vistas so pure from the top of a climb
made the pain of the effort somewhat sublime.
Descents fast and scary just add to the thrill.
Machine matched to body excites me still.
I still live in hope it'll go in remission.
It's ravaged my body like nuclear fission.
I look in the mirror, a stranger stares back.
I'm going to recover, resolve I don't lack
Never a worry that I would grow old.
Many a tale of our exploits was told.
We rode many tours that beggared belief.
This disease we all suffer is such a thief.