Time for forgetfulness

He had been to my house often, like to come here and stay for a few days,
because of nature where he could walk along overgrown tracks and see
how life used to be lived before; now he could not find the house, called me
told me the name of the café where he had stopped.
After a meal, he went for a walk but didn't return, and it was getting dark,
we looked for him he has lost his way, we found him under an olive tree,
it had taken some time before he knew me, the game was up, he cried,
Slowly succumbing to Alzheimer. In the morning we drove him home,
my wife drove his car; he spoke little when he did mixed past and present
(Who doesn't).
When we came to his house, he thought I was Dali Lama flattered by
his visit. In a lucid moment he knew what happened and cut his life short,
he refused to follow the lane of the living dead.