Short Inglenook Poems

Though the years he remembers
blue skies some that turn to grey 
an inglenook of burning embers,
verdant pastures turning to hay
the snow rides on Santa’s sleigh.

Yet here he sits in his lonely room
A case of dementia we are told
Now a silhouette of youthful bloom,
His only misdeed being too old
Another mind enters the fold.

© Harry J Horsman  2011...

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