Mary Wanda Witherbee
Had arthritis in both knees
White hair matted down with pins
And brimming with disease
But her thin lips often smiled
Her hazel eyes did too
And her voice was always soothing
To one with trouble due
She woke one night abruptly
To warm hands on her thighs
Kisses up and down her neck
Her heart kicking with surprise
But she did not cringe or pull away
She felt nostalgia seep in
Back to her days of wild
Wearing nothing but a grin
All at once she found herself
Walking through an old, dim hall
The air brought sour memory
That made her grey skin crawl
She peeked around an open door
To see rows of weepers in black
And Mary Wanda Witherbee
Was laying peacefully on her back
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem