Old Man�s Memory

I wrote this one a very long time ago about an old man who I became acquainted with. It's cadence and rhyme are extremely corney, but so be it.

Its all he has left, now that he's old and forgotten.
Laying alone, he waves goodbye to his pride.
Skin drapes his bones, and intellect has failed him.
He has nothing more.  Nearly all else has died.

He remembers your name.  He readily shouts it,
As you bathe him, and care for his basic needs.
He laughs as he shouts it, he recalls it quite clearly.
He has no other pleasure but his sparse memory.

His body is fading. His wealth taken.
The family has divided and dispersed his estate.
But his memory doesn't fail him. He delights in its contents.
It keeps him alive, its one thing they cant take.

Its disjointed at times, perhaps selectively so,
But it will eventually all come out clearly in time.
His speech may be garbled, but he knows what he's saying.
Its his thoughts, his experiences that he's calling to mind.

Its all he has left, his precious memory,
That he calls upon for amusement during his day.
His days, as do everyone's, decrease in their number,,
So allow him his memory, let him shout as he may.