Age and Memory

A  nod to Mr. Frost, despite not being written in meter.

An Old Woman’s Winter Night

In the night
she wakes
and asks,
“Where am I?”

Arms out, she rediscovers
the bed beneath her.

“Which way is my house?
Is it at the end of the lane?
Which way is it facing?”
she asks the moonlit snow.

Tracing out these loosened lines,
she mumbles, drifting
toward a restless jumble of dreams,
“My mind is working,
working….”

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