The Senile

She walks relentlessly to and fro Silent, serene without much ado What does she search incessantly? Her shrinking weak, thin physique shaking Her nerves and bones tingling and aching Why does she run passionately? She's senile. To me I often say There's every sign I see, anyway 'Tell me your secret, my dear mother; Is an evil spirit haunting you? Is any power par pulling you? Why this food in your carrier? It's then when I went on her way once Of course, out of meager eagerness A half-dead woman she did show; 'She's my sister. Weaker than me, see! Who's for her, in this world, but, me?' She isn’t. I’m senile. Now I know. 4th May 2021 ALL YOURS (May 5) Poetry Contest