When she
Grew
Very old,
She said,
‘Girl, I
Live in
My head.
Past
Friends
Are dead,
Or far
Away,
And
Memories
Bend
And fray.
But I’ve
No fear,
Those I do
Recall
I hold
Most dear.
I like
To think
A year
Or maybe
Two,
Is left,
To drink
Time’s heady
Brew,
And when
The cup
Is dry,
I’ll
Say
Goodbye.
Dear
Child,
For now,
Don’t fret.
I’m not
Gone yet.’