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