ALZHEIMERS

Drip, drop. Drip, drop. The rain comes down in sheets,

And lightning retreats, but thunder gives chase.
Ghostlike and pale, her chair turned north, she greets
The rain. Candles cast shadows on his face.
The paper is worn, and the glass is cracked,
Yet the ghost within still has yet to sleep.
Nowadays it always seems to rain, Jack.
You used to love the rain, she weeps.
Pit, pat. Pit, pat. Footsteps come down the hall.
I wish you could see the rain. Its still here.
He comes, but the sight of her he appalls.
Its late, he says. Please come to bed, dear.
Eyes dull, she rises and says, Its not the same.
Jacks here, he grunts. And I hate the rain.