Her Mind a Tired River

Her Mind a Tired River

Her memories fade softly,

like sunlight through lace,

names slip away

but faces still linger.

She talks to her late husband,

as if he never left,

his chair remains untouched,

a shrine to once.

Loneliness hums low,

a quiet machine of days,

and her tears fall slow,

grateful to still feel.

The nurse calls her brave,

but she only feels small,

time has taken her rhythm,

and left her with echoes.

She whispers goodnight

to a room that listens,

then dreams of her youth,

Too old now, her mind still alive.