Mind Matters



She gathers up the washing in her trembling hands

Fingering her children’s dirty clothes

Oblivious to her own madness, in her confusion, she stands

Make some tea, or maybe butter a scone

Her good life is a mystery; she has no recall

Her emotions and sense of ‘being’ had long since gone

Lionel watches his stricken wife – as she dances across the floor

Perhaps a day of clarity, rare, but, a possibility

Or improbability

They used to waltz together, sometimes very slow

Expected to grow old into their dotage

Aah…sweet memories seem such a long time ago

Her offspring are in denial of her delicate state

Protecting themselves from her terrible fate