Rockingchair

I sat down beside An old woman in a rockingchair. Dementia had silenced her, But her eyes told her story. So, as we rocked, I listened, through those eyes. 'I once was young, and pretty, too With plans and dreams I hoped would come true I'm really not that different from you. I dreamed of love, and happiness And always did my very best In the pursuit of my success. The young girl that I used to be Locked up inside, no longer free But I assure you, I'm still me.' With misty eyes, I found no words To thank her for what I'd just heard So, I gently placed my hand over hers. Copyright (c)Practicing Poetess poetry All rights reserved