Fingers bent, misshapen, sore
She drinks her tea, stares at the floor
Thoughts wandering, she brings to mind
of happy days she left behind
Of friends and family who have past
All the memories she’s amassed
Days go by without a soul
She knows how old age takes its toll
A long, sad sigh escapes her lips
How she yearns for new friendships
For copper kettles and conversations would she give
the last few days she’s got to live
© Susan Barton 2013
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