Jacqui Whittingham

About the realisation that I am getting old. 

This poem was actually written several years ago, when a close friend was very ill with a brain tumour. Sadly we lost him 5 years ago this week, which made em feel it was time to rework this a little and let it see the light of day. The title was invoked by somebody describing his tumour as being " about the size of a small plum". I'm still uncomfortable about the last stanza in particular and wonder if some of it is a bit too sentimental? 

My first attempt for some time. Generated from a long period of waiting for a diagnosis of Aspergers Syndrome in my daughter which on one level could clear me of parental blame for the challenges she has to face but on the other hand may trap her - if she and we let it. (In the light of comments I modified this summary to give more clarity - may review again later)