A rocking chair by the window, a cold winters day,
The ragged quilt upon her, did not keep the chill away.
Showing its age patches ripped tattered and torn,
She had carefully crafted it before her first child was born.
No one cared anymore. She was left all alone,
In front of a window in an old folk’s home.
She had no tears left, she felt so empty inside,
Her heart ached fiercely and her soul cried.
White flakes of snow captured by the breeze,
And fell softly on the ground and trees.
Her mind played back old memories back in the day,
And the laughter of her children as they went out to play.
Hot chocolate with marshmallows, and wood stove heat,
Double layer of socks, plastic bags for the feet.
Sledding down the hill, such good times of youth,
As her memories slowly faded she finally faced the truth.
They had forgotten her, their lives led them away,
But each morning she awoke thinking maybe today.
They would come for her take her away from this place,
But each night sadness crept back in her face.
Darkness had come, but she was too tired to move,
She knew the nurses would come get her soon.
She closed her eyes and prayed for strength to go on,
But God chose to come and take her home.
It was too late for her family to realize she was gone,
That she died among strangers in an old folk’s home.
It was too late to remember, too late to make amends,
She had given them life; they had left her at the end.

© Cynthia Clark
You have captured the lonliness so perfectly in this poem.. so sad.. there are many
whose life ends this way..