A Lady Of Sorts (For Aileen Johnston) Poem by Marguerite Anderson

Silhouetted in the twilight of a fragile mind,
A tapestry unraveled, its threads confined.
Lady Aileen, once a fair maiden - a tale untold
-Now lost in memories, aged and cold.
A lady of sorts,
An old woman, once young and bright,
had traveled the world to this soft moonlight.
Yet class and grace still adorned her name,
A globe-trotter in life's vibrant game.

Her eyes like stars, once sparkling keen,
Now distant constellations, unseen.
Dementia's cruel dance, a relentless tide,
Yet within her is a spirit that won't subside.
Sweet lady of sorts, mockery may dance on fragile lips,
Yet love persists, in the heart it grips.

A whisper of the past, a silent plea,
For those who cherish what used to be.
Her laughter echoes through the years,
A melody of joy, banishing tears.
In the corridors of her fading mind,
A legacy of strength, tenacious, enshrined.

The mirror may betray a ghostly reflection,
But the essence within defies dejection.
For love sees beyond the shrouded mist,
Embracing the soul in moments reminisced.
Her worth, not measured by what is lost,
But by her enduring love, an unwavering cost.
In the eyes of this beholder, she is a queen,
A resilient spirit, though unsung and unseen.

So, let the world jest, let time be unkind,
In the realm of love, she's a treasure to find.
For in my heart, it's undeniably true,
Her charm and grace like a fountain, spews
Her vestibule of wisdom etched countless stories in my mind
This elderly beauty - despite dementia - is indeed a rare kind.