By Henry Duthler
When I see the reflection in the mirror
it's like seeing my grandfather
that man with the glaze in his eye
It breaks my heart that he doesn't recognize me...
The way his hair has thinned over the years
and his skin, wrinkled and rough
he looks as though he sees right through me
and it breaks his heart he doesn't recognize me.
He shuffles his gate as he moves about his room
as he passes pictures on the wall of strangers to him
he's not sure where there were taken, places he's never been
and it breaks their hearts that he doesn't recognize them.
People in uniforms they come and they go
they talk in loud voices and pretend they are his friends
He wishes they would just leave him alone,
because it breaks his heart, he doesn't recognize them.
There's a lady who came today, she seemed very sad
she didnt say a word, she just sat in the chair and cried
he asked her to leave, it wasn't her room
and with that, he breaks her heart, because she doesn't recognize him...
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