These Arms...

Once they were strong. They commanded the handlebar of many bicycles, the old fashioned kind without gears, to explore the countryside. They assisted in accomplishing chin-ups and pull-ups in school playgrounds and gymnasiums. They did hot pepper jump roping. They enabled access to a treehouse located very high in a beech tree. They carried two five gallon buckets of water many yards twice a day to horses for numerous years. They steered a tractor pulling a wagonload of hay bales through rough fields and then help upload them to the barn elevator. They pulled this body high up into trees with a pouch on its back to pick apples, and helped it down with the burdensome packload for weeks on end. They lifted and maneuvered long bulky planks of wood, often heavy oak or cherry, to a chopsaw station to be cut into specific lengths for seven years straight. They once held a sizable dog down for several hours while porcupine quills were extracted from its tongue and cheeks by a helper. They hoed, dug and raked an ample vegetable garden every year. They have carried tons of laundry to and from washers, driers, clotheslines, vehicles. They've moved furniture and emptied heavy kettles from stoves to sinks. They once embraced, pushed, opened and closed. 

Now they are soft, cushy, flaccid, floppy, shapeless and slack. Their tonelessness is a sight to behold. They do nothing but hang and flap. They have become unpowerful, unenthusiastic and lethargic. They are exhausted and OLD. Like me.