The old grey man sat by the window
with his great grandchild in his lap.
He doesn’t speak much since his last stroke
but at least he could teach her to clap.

His brain is a puzzle with some pieces stolen.
He struggles to keep time at bay.
At times he can speak, if the past is invoked.
Most times, he has nothing to say.

For he is an actor, in spotlight unforgiving
who’s forgotten the lines he must say.
His timing is off, he’s missing his mark.
They’re writing him out of the play

The child in his arms, for reasons quite different,
will likely forget this fine day.
Her Great Grandpa a name, a face in a frame,
a memory time has stolen away.

We start out our lives in rooms filled with strangers
then, gradually, we learn our way.
We end up our lives in rooms filled with strangers.
As it was, so t’will be, make away.