Dementia
Why don’t people give me some food? Her humble words made me sad, rued, Her tone appeared rough and subdued, My sweet mother had now fallen into oblivion, Her once sharp mind could neither judge nor had rhyme or reason, She recognised no one and her loved ones were now aliens, She lived in the streets of fore, Watched for children near the door, Sometimes told tales, folklore, She had groomed me well Nature’s cruel spell, Made her life a hell, Yearned for her embrace, Tried her old self trace, In her pale blank face.