Grandma No More

by Stephen Mark Golden

Copyright © August 1987

Across the rivers, hills, and streams

Yes, an endless flow, it seems,

That find their way to homes like this

Before they reach their final rest.

And sadness fills my heart for these

With whom I find myself ill at ease.

Being placed in the midst of care

By their children who deem it best.

For their lifestyles should be not cramped

By the care of ancients, forever stamped.

Soon enough, the day will come

When they too will be taken from their own homes

And be treated as they have done these,

No longer able to do as they please.

And owing themselves they do believe,

To live life freely, and to achieve,

This their purpose throughout each day,

“Living is life”, their actions say.

But what is life without love,

To bide the time, until taken home?