On the little table by her bed

Dusty lampshade, fringes shabby-draped,

Casting forever-shadows,

On the faded photograph.

Long fingers of dark space waiting at the edge

Like memories now faded and

Forgotten in her tired mind.

Little-girl eyes stare vacantly,

Trustingly, at beyond our knowledge.

Picture has slipped in its frame

Mind has slipped in its brain

Life has forgotten the game

And slipped away through the

Tendrils of the shabby, dusty lampshade’s fringe,

Back into the dark spaces

Between the smiling faces

In the photograph.

Take me back,

take me back to

When I can remember.

Take me back

take me back

To when I was alive