In the month of fourteen, everything changed.
Then names from faces became, sadly, estranged.
One whom we all love has a part of her gone.
Not anything simple; not a leg or an arm.

Her memories stolen, her speech rearranged,
by a tumor that's growing on one side of her brain.
A stroke was the first clue that something was wrong.
In the month of Fourteen, all her words came out wrong.

The music may play and she may try to sing-
but the lyric is lost in the strain echoing.
I doubt whether her life will ever be the same.
Her husband is with her but she's forgotten his name.