All day along she sits by the window
watching people go about their business.
Some smile, some wave, some nod to say hello-
she finds these greetings a bit meaningless.
Sometimes someone drops by for a quick chat
which lifts her spirits just a little bit.
Sometimes someone brings flowers, pats her back-
finds nothing to offer but some lame wit.
She longs to talk but hears the clock ticking
so her words jumble, tumble and overlap.
The past overflows memories leaking,
and those tears or joys seem a bizarre yap.
She sits by the window, asks for our time,
long talks- and a clock with no hands, no chime.
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