Her eyes, though once bright, are cloudy,
Shrunken and fragile the form
That long was brimful of vigor
And a will to outlast life's storms.
She stares past a blank horizon
Through a door that I do not know;
The colors she sees are mem'ries,
Scents and sounds of the long ago.
A kaleidoscope of faces
Turns merry-go-round in her mind;
While trees out her window whisper
Soft lullabies long left behind.
The sound of my cheery greeting
Draws her back to this metal room,
Away from a creaking rocker
And her mama's sweet, gentle croon.
If is not my name she whispers
As I bend down to kiss her cheek,
But a name more dear than ever
Mine was is the name that she speaks.
"Papa," the feeble voice quavers.
I'm no more a part of her world;
The grandma that soothed my sorrows
Is once again Papa's wee girl.