Tuesday, 31 January 2012

The Golden Years???

I wrote this poem when I was working as a secretary at St. Paul's Nursing Home.  We had a lady who had Alzheimer's Disease.  She was so attached to her doll, she would not leave it to go for lunch unless she had assigned "a sitter" to stay with her "baby" until she got back. A visitor told me it was a "depressing sight".  I, (as well as other staff members) thought it was beautiful though  tragically sad!  This poem was my rebuttal to that visitor's "depressing" assessment of the lady's plight.   

Daisy was a Lady - Once

Daisy was a lady
With poise and grace
And elegance and pride.
Her eyes were bright, her speech refined,
There was purpose in her stride.
Folks sought he counsel
For her words were wise
And her ideals were honourable.
All who knew her
Were proud to call her Friend.
They listened as she spoke
Their attention undivided,
For Daisy was a lady

We see her now
Just the shell
Of the Daisy we used to know.
Age has taken its toll,
But its that dreaded disease
That has ravaged her soul
And stripped her of that dignity
She worked so hard to maintain;
The respect that was hers alone;
That took a lifetime to build.
That flawless reputation
Carved by perseverance and determination,
Is all but a memory now,
In the minds of those who know
That Daisy was a lady

We barely recognize her face
So sullen, disinterested
Devoid of the bright smile of recognition;
Her eyes staring blankly into space
Avoiding contact with humanity
As if we were some alien race
To whom she has nothing to say.
She is oh, so different now
Her shoulders stoop
Her head hangs low
And her steps falter
As she shuffles aimlessly through the halls
Of the nursing home where she now resides.
Visitors pass her by
With pity in their eyes
For she remembers not
The people she held so dear
When Daisy was a lady.

She had a husband once
A loving family
Whose very existence was intertwined with hers
They laughed together in the good times
Cried together when things were bad;
They worked and played
And prayed together for the same goals.
Their aspirations rose and fell as one.
Now their visits seem so meaningless,
For Daisy does not know theyre there.
She knows not who they are,
Just another voice,
Another face in an endless abyss,
Another form in her wandering path,
A form from the distant past,
When Daisy was a lady.

Her children come
Now with families of their own
Their hearts bleed
And their eyes fill with unshed tears
To see this pathetic figure
Whos not the mother they once knew,
When Daisy was a lady.

But there is a part
They still recognize.
Daisy carries a doll now
She holds her close
Enfolding her to her bosom
Gazing at the doll with a love so profound
That time itself retracts its sequence
The children watch
And remember…….
When Daisy was a lady 

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