You Were Young Once.

For Mary. I know nothing of you, save for your name and that you touched my heart.

You were young once,

Your white hair, sparse and thin, twisted behind your head in a haphazard knot.

Your eyes once glistened with radiance and youth,

You were young once.

In Sunday bests, you sat in the chapel, eagerly awaiting the Sunday fair,

In dresses your mother stitched with such love, you danced at the ball,

Pearls glistening, curls bouncing-

You were young once.

You were a good student in those days. Studious and eager to go as far as the world would allow. And you did.

Your lips once kissed a handsome young man,

Your arms once held a beautiful child-

A perfect mother, caring and mild.

You were young once.

Those eyes that stare with both an emptiness and a longing,

The bittersweet nostalgia that washes over you each day.

What have they seen, those eyes, lady?

What wonders, what history, what change?

What happiness, what troubles, what mysteries that we'll never know.

You were young once.

Your hands tell a story of your past,

Each wrinkle and line a testimony of your life.

These are hands that have seen, felt, held, touched, experienced and lived-

Oh, the history of you.

But you were young once.

And now you have grown old. In the race of your life, you raced only against your years. They have caught up to you.

The eyes that have seen so much- they fail you now.

The ears that heard the carnival sounds, the school bells, the sweet nothings of a lover, the babies cries- they fail you now.

The hands with which you sculpted a life- they are frail, wrinkled, aged.

Nurses lead you to a room in which your life has been confined into the four moss green walls.

They bring you tea and a meal that you know you had once perfected.

The photographs on the wall exist as your only link to the past.

A small piece of the life that you had.

What do you feel, lady? What do you think?

Where is your mind now? Your memories?

You have grown old.

But you were young once.