Nanny
Time is of essence and so is she,
Forgetting at times just who to be.
She hides behind wrinkles, truth and pain,
The mind she was born with, an open drain.
Laughter and tears, her daily theme,
Wondering if it’s real or a dream.
She constantly lives in yesterday’s years,
And pretends not to notice the rest of our fears.
The person she was her whole life though,
Is as much of a stranger as me or you.
And the fluid of life leaves a bitter thirst,
As we watch her mind slowly die first.
By Jamie R Eddy
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