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My mind a thick fog, a thick fog so deep, 
it threatens to submerge my thoughts. 
I know not why, or how, or even who,
for the fog makes me it's puppet. 
It stutters and now I. 
It forgets and so do I. 
Who are you beside me, i really mean no harm. 
It's so very lonely, in my arbid mind.

My hands no longer dainty, 
but thick clumsy stubs,
that struggle with the buttons on my shirt, 
oh and my cardigan, 
and the laces of my shoes. 
You shouldn't help, but I know you will. 
I feel so confined, 
in this body of mine.

My back is hunched, I'm five foot three, 
but shuffle along at four foot nine. 
A zimmer trawling along in front, 
my eyes glaring at my two left feet, 
that once could rumba or Charleston,
a swinger of the early days. 
It's not so kind to be so bent, 
when one wishes to look upto the sky.

My memories wither, as embers of a dying fire. 
I wish the fuel of medicine could have, 
burnt brightly for a few more years.
I'm told I will soon be a great grandmother,
but if you ask, I don't know who to. 
Maybe Samantha or Sharon or Sylvia or Ann? 
For peets sake my memories scatter,
Like a baby, I pitter patter.

I wish for the sunlight on my nose, 
the fresh ocean water on my toes. 
I long to see the shooting stars, 
relax in the Icelandic spas. 
But most of all I want to smuggle, 
with my loved ones, on a winter's eve. 
Tell them sweet stories, sing and dance, 
hear their laughter and not their cries.

For though living, it is my bitter sweet goodbye.

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