Diminishment

Once stately and graceful

full of impish gaiety,

now bowed and turtle-gaited,

she hobbles toward the chapel,

wedded to prayer as a farmer

to his plow, arthritic fingers

finding the page, dimmed eyes

searching for the words. She

shuffles back to her room,

too tired to read or knit,

content to watch finches feed

and leaves rustle.         

Her mind wanders

to former days when eager

faces listened to her lectures

on imagery and symbols,

feasted on her lavish servings

of Hopkins and Dickinson,

relished her Irish wit and

tales of life on a Kansas farm.

She brightens when a visitor

appears, a rare treat

these famished days.