Losing Touch

I wrote this in memory of my grandmother, Moira Enid Jones (d. December 2011)


1. Losing Touch

The days bleed into each other;

I don’t know if it is day or night.

The places I’ve been

and the people I’ve seen start to fade;

Yesteryear’s memories seem so real.


A ballerina in a pirouette pose;A little blonde girl curled up

in an antique office chair;Three children playing at the seaside,

Their laughter echoes in my ears.


Fleeting dreams slip through my fingers,Shadows move at the corner of my eyes;

They tease and they taunt.I drift away…


My vision dims, I close my eyes to see

Love’s smiling face beckoning to join him;The dream consumes me and I am lost.


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