'old Dear' Dementia

she sits crying into a serviette
wanting to go home,  her father
is ill and at 84 she doesnt understand
yet that time hasn't stood still..
she see's me leaving as the lift
doors slam I wish I had the means
or will to take her to the place
called home, where hearts remain
in happiest time I wish I too
could go and sit with mum
sipping tea, tasting slab sponge covered
with hundreds and thousands 
candied memories, iced gems
baked into subconsciousness,
cucumber soaked  vinegar for cheese
sandwiches with real butter..
wedges of crusty bread..and mum
busy in the kitchen, or playing 
badminton on the lawn..
you see when she says she
wants to go home...I know exactly
where she's coming from...