My husband and I were in the mall.  He was getting his watch fixed.  I needed to sit down so I went back into the mall.  Suddenly I realized I was talking to myself.  Out loud.  When I went home, I wrote this poem.

Little old lady, sitting all alone,
Talking to herself, ’cause she doesn’t have a phone.
No one to call, there’s nobody home.
One by one they left her, and now they’re all gone.

Gone are the people she loved every day.

She laughed with them, she cried with them, she served them in her way.
She was their daughter, their mother, their helper, and their friend.
They took her love, her youth, her wealth, and left her in the end.

Some have passed on, but some are still here.
Some are far away, but some are quite near.
Some didn’t like something she said,
And now they treat her as if she were dead.

Now the work is over and her hands are still.
Everyday she thinks of them and shudders with a chill.
The days go by, then weeks, then years.
Not one of them is here for her to stay the tears.

A voice interrupts deep in her heart.
“You’ll never be alone, we’ll never be apart.
Don’t worry my child, you’ll be just fine.
I’ll never leave you because you are mine.”

Thank you, Father, I know that it’s true.
From now on, I’ll talk to you.