The Shell

When I visit you by day
I find a shell, with hair of gray.
Your frame is frail, your gait is slow,
And we who love you, you no longer know.
Your eyes no longer relect the love
That sustained me those many years.
I search and finding it not, shed silent tears.
Silent tears for that we lost
When you were attacked and surely tossed
Into months and years of confusion,
Fear, anger and hopelessness
That forced you into your prison of seclusion.
We seek to release you with endearing words and a loving caress.
We fail, and realize there is no redress
To the damage done to a once strong
Loving husband and father.

by Marie B. Bolin, Age 81, Temple Terrace, FL