~<>~< Pot of Clay >~<>~

                          Warm and humid                             devoid of sound                 strangers are stored to die                              One pale flower                         is sought and found                 beheld through cloudy eyes                            All else excluded                             from chosen view                 all else from memory fades                            Old eyes can see                      Heaven shine through                  bright images on parade                                 Silvery hair                               yellowing skin  stooped shoulders and gnarled  hands                                Hearing gone                               ignored by kin          they think she can’t understand                                Into the "home"                               without a choice            no more Home but a house for sale                                  Sit and wait                                without a voice                   for a feeble old heart to fail                                From a flower bed                                  one sweet bloom                  transplanted to a  pot of clay                                   Standing alone                                  in a dreary room                      wilting a bit more each day