Alzheimer's Poem by Dennis Lange

No ink is now left in the printer.
Old copies are gone; new ones fail.
The birds have flown south for the winter.

The loved ones are new as they enter;
Each day that they visit's a veil.
No ink is now left in the printer.

The new leaves their minds like a sprinter;
The old is locked up in a jail.
The birds have flown south for the winter.

The life that remains is a splinter
Though body be hearty and hale.
No ink is now left in the printer.

The spring was not owner, but renter.
Both summer and fall have set sail.
The birds have flown south for the winter.

What's there is a shell but no center;
The heart's been torn out of the tale.
No ink is now left in the printer.
The birds have flown south for the winter.