She sits, frail and pale,
wrinkled hands twisting,
left foot swinging to and fro,
cardi buttons out of phase,
dreaming of bygone days -
a world covid free
when she could give hugs,
and in a motherly way
kiss me on my baby face.
Gone are the cherry cheeks,
and charcoaled eyes;
the dancing on nubile feet
with easy feminine grace.

I watched her, smiling -
eyes closed as in sleep -
from a secret pleasure.
Perhaps she's somewhere
beyond the flesh and bone
where peace and love abound -
where moments to treasure
fill every space in time,
every second, whenever
a dream begins or ends.
Tangled synapses stealing
everything from my reality
but not from her own.

© Griffonner 2024