The Forgotten
She sits by her window
dozing off and on.
Drool escapes from her mouth
she wipes when she's aware.
The birds they no longer sing
or she no longer hears.
Her once busy hands
now lay frozen in her lap.
She recalls the love of family and friends
whom no longer call.
This room which is now her home
feels more like a prison cell.
Three meals a day,
meds and bath
are only breaks in endless days.
At night when she's put to bed
she closes her eyes and prays.
Dear Lord, I'm tired and weak.
If it's your will please bring me home.
You know best.
Amen.
Copyright © Mary Yaws | Year Posted 2007
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