The forgotten old lady sits there on a bench
And watches the sea kiss the shore;
Once they would come and kiss her on the cheek
But they seldom come anymore;
Now she’s alone and for much of the time
She sits on a bench by the door.
The forgotten old lady was once young and spry,
With family and friends living near;
But they have all gone to live lives of their own,
The ones that she once held so dear;
They’re too far away to stop by every day
But she’s happy they come once a year.
The forgotten old lady stares down at her hands,
Work-worn but now lying so still;
She cared for them all in their formative years,
Happy that her days were filled;
Though sometimes the work seemed to be never-ending,
Each new day always brought a new thrill.
The forgotten old lady sits there all alone,
In the shade of the old willow trees;
Watching a sunset of orange and pink
And breathing the scent of the seas;
She is at peace with herself and the world,
Enjoying the soft evening breeze.
The forgotten old lady is silent and still,
As the day slowly draws to a close;
She smiles at the visions that run through her mind
With feelings that make her eyes glow;
Warmed by the memories that fill up her heart,
Unfolding like summer’s first rose.
© 2015 Fay Herridge
Published in Story Quilt, July 2016 [Canadian Stories online magazine]