Letting Go

Childlike, she plays

Hand-patting innocence to pass the muddled days.

Smiling for strangers, so not to cause offence

among forgotten familiars.

And dancing, dancing,

driven on by long-forgotten aims,

but can’t recall the faces

or recognise her children or their names.

Ninety years unlearned

and bled into the greedy sands of time

Lear-like; fond and foolish,

living out her years her only crime.

This fragile will, older and far stronger than belief,

shattered, disassembled, stolen

piece by piece by heartless thief.

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