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John F McCullagh
Poems
Dec 2011
End Game
When and where does the mind wander
When it‘s trapped within its’ loom?
When plaque obstructs the passageways
Through which her thoughts would zoom?
When she was young the Universe
was all hers to explore.
Little did she realize then
What horrors lay in store.
She encountered the excitement
of new concepts and ideas.
But those memories grow distant
Then, in some dark corner, disappear.
When young, she was a fashion plate;
Vibrant colors every night.
Now she’s dressed in shades of grey
as she stumbles through twilight.
True, she sometimes can recall
a place, a name, a slight.
Yet she forgets to take her medicines
And she isn’t eating right.
When young her nimble mind could play
whole symphonies by rote.
But now all she remembers
is a single plaintive note.
My friend's mother has succumbed to dementia. R.I.P.
Written by
John F McCullagh
63/M/NY
(63/M/NY)
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