Oh Aunty May, poor Aunty May,
Your life has all been washed away.
We glimpse your essence when we look
At sepia prints in faded book.

We see you as you used to be,
Quite charming at the age of three,
Dressed all in brown on oaken chair
Brown ribbons twined in chestnut hair.

Then as a pretty girl so bright
You sparkle there in black and white,
All draped across a vintage car
Like some forgotten movie star.

And there you are, dear Aunty May,
At every happy Wedding Day,
But no bells rang for you aloud,
Just smiling sweetly in the crowd.

So uneventful years flew past
And stole those charms that will not last,
Leaving you bitter and bereft,
Arthritis and cold anger left.

And now all thought has flown away,
No memory recalls the day;
And we are strangers when we call
Like empty frames hung on the wall.

Your eyes are blank, with nothing there
Except a hard unblinking stare.
Oh Aunty May, poor Aunty May.
“What happens next?” is all you say.