Thanks Joe, I'll be cutting it loose in a new book probably this weekend - along with this one I did the other day in tribute to my mother in law.
She woke every morn like the day she was born
with no knowledge of prior events,
she couldn’t recall Sunday’s trip to the mall –
or the flowers her granddaughter sent.
Like an angel she slept, but nothing was kept,
her memories fizzled away,
none would remain – all her joy and her pain
would only exist for a day.
Her kids were all grown, so she sat all alone
in the house that they built long ago
and one day a week I’d drop by – kiss her cheek,
oh how that old woman would glow.
Talking to me over cookies and tea,
she’d drift back to earlier years,
her life as a girl in a whole different world,
touring photos that brought her to tears.
How bright she would shine during “old movie time”
as she rode with the lows and the highs,
though the same one would play three or four times a day,
the ending would be a surprise.
Thirsty for news, but always confused
had a hard time remembering names,
except one she knew since before World War Two,
a dashing young fellow named James.
She’d spent all her life as an army man’s wife –
never hungry for fortune or fame,
when an unhealthy heart caused her man to depart,
she never would be quite the same.
With every new day she slipped further away,
until finally her past disappeared,
away they all went – every treasured event,
the moment that everyone feared.
Red 427 SC, Toploader, 427 Windsor, gravel dings galore