This was written recently by my sister who suffers from Alzheimers. I should not say "suffers" because she cheerfully accepts the different plane that it has set her on apart from the <normal> world. A very gifted author and poet the disease has cruely manifested itself by upsetting the language function of the brain, yet I find her latest works intensely moving and brave.

 

 

This now, is called: The Gifts

Now, I am thinking about, all our presents.

But you must tell me:                    What sort of them?

There is The Past, which givens me a huge shelf, where,     I can decide over

 two options:   One, could be a glass, full of joyment, pleasure and bliss

So, when it comes to an other type of feeling:

   All, I could say: "Please, open my eyes, and I will be able to keep,

all my joyment -glass,     for ever.

O.K.!

What about the other types of blocks of TIMES

I have being thinking About: The Past,

So where does the Future come!

Oh, there is only a properly, single Future

The Present is the only part of those blocks,  in where, we are already,

Waiting for to reduce   myself.

It took, a long time, before, I realised that I have been giving

    thousands, and millions, gifts,

All during my lifel