Ceaseless white seen through glassy eyes;
Callous cold on either side of the glassy eyes.
Memoirs roll down the cheeks;
Caustic trail to the heart, down the wilting cheeks.
Mind reconnoitring the attic of times lost;
To find the lady with crumpled eyes, kind and just as lost.
She whose tales swallowed the soul of a juvenile me;
Whose tickled wink buttressed the frisky me.
I know her smile after a hopeful wait sitting by the patio;
Yet all I see now is a lone chair in the mourning patio.
Even the vile winter sees me abject;
Holed up in the attic with all that's left of my Grandmother.
