Wrinkled hands explore the smooth terrain,
here, her fingers remain,
As they DISCOVER a rusted box,
with no locks.
With all her might she opens,
To see cosily settled inside are some old tokens,
and a BANDAID
Her weak mind flashes hazy reels of a handmaid,
Patiently nursing open wound,
Her memory had marooned,
For seconds it was like COMING BACK HOME,
Then progresses Alzheimer's foam,
Memory discovered in seconds,
looses in progressing seconds.
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