Sitting on the bed,

in a dark, silent room,

she spoke,

and as she spoke,

I heard the emerging excitement in her voice

as she described the magnificence

of her past.

Her dark eyes were now closed

and she smiled in reminiscence.

While watching her,

I knew it was playing once again

through her mind.

I also closed my eyes

and tried to envision her

as a young girl.

Beautiful, innocent, and naive.

It wasn't hard to imagine

because at that moment

when moonlight kissed her face

I saw the lines etched into her face,

born of her woes and hardships

had faded.

She talked of the theater

and its elaborate glory,

the age-old museum,

the Parisian cuisine,

and of her mother's comforting embrace.

I cried silently because I knew,

all its grace was lost.

She stopped, opened her eyes briefly

to take her medication

and then drifted softly into a false slumber.