(Written for those who suffer from, or care for, those with dementia)
A vase of flowers, that speaks of Spring,
Bright painted walls, rich curtaining,
Pictures adorning every wall,
And photos framed lining the hall,
The table neatly set for tea....
I hold your hand and silently
Ask – ‘Do you see what I see?’
Soft laughter, chats, accompany
The daily afternoon TV,
Familiar sounds of everyday
Float round us and I aching say
With soundless word and falling tear
‘I cannot reach you any more,
You cannot hear what I hear.’
I wonder, is your heart still stirred
By gentle hug, and caring word?
Does any joy-filled memory
Of loving friends and family
Reappear with a sense real
Or is all this hidd’n and concealed,
So you don’t feel what I feel?
Then, from a nearby piano, one
Strikes up a tune and starts to hum
And sing a glorious Gospel song
And suddenly, you sing along....
Waken as if from dormant rest,
You live again, by Gods Word blessed,
And sing of Him who saved your soul
Whose own you are, His Home your goal.
For just a time, hymn after hymn,
Your true self is no longer dim,
Your spirit soars, your soft eyes shine
As if with radiant light divine.
The music ends and you withdraw
And rest, in vacancy, once more.
I hold your hand, and this is real,
Though you can’t see, and hear and feel
Like those of us in life’s fast throng,
Already you’ve a different song
That’s tuned to Heaven, home of the blessed,
Where soon you’ll know Eternal Rest.
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