He shuffles down the corridor,
Not just with age,
But from a motorcycle crash.
Ancient pain, a badge of distant youth.
"Are you there, Grandad?"
Or are you just an aged husk?
I feel the guilt of a primeval need to run,
To leave the sick and dying.

I remember conversations that we had,
Life's jigsaw pieces we sculpted together.
A rainbow of summer outings
And half terms yearned for,
Gone too quickly.

"Hello, Grandad"
Watery eyes raise up to meet my own.
How many pleasant times those eyes looked down
Upon my play, or offer me
A bitter tomato grown with pride.
Wrinkled forehead creases further,
Confusion? Recognition?
Are you there, grandad?

I remember our last conversation,
Not for what was spoken,
But the way the same was said
Three times.
And then it seemed a fog had cleared,
We talked of old and how forgetfulness
Was amusing,
And sad.

Now, nothing.
A reassuring smile from a nurse,
But that can't bridge the gulf.
Are you there, grandad?
Or are you now a traveller,
A wanderer through sweet memories
Of youth and dreams,
And never growing old.

Travel well, sweet wanderer.
Travel well.