October 7, 2015

 

 

And now her mind

drifts off to sea,

we are left with life

as it used to be.

 

‘Her steak pie suppers,

with that touch of finesse;

too full for more, but

plum pudding, nevertheless’.

 

And now her eyes

little sight can see,

Her touch so vital;

how I envy her dignity.

 

Her manicured fingers

gripping a warm tea cup,

though quite what to do with it –

Chaos could erupt?

 

Last weeks contents, she

poured into the sugar bowl,

when our eyes, for a moment

went on a stroll.

 

Cubes bobbed up and down

and glistened away;

she joined in the laughter,

that saved the day.

 

And now she is ready

for her pre-lunch nap.

Our cue to rise,

and gather coat and cap.

 

She opens her eyes

as we reach the door.

We are now but a blur,

so she closes them once more. 

 

 

 

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