No, It's Not Alzheimer's
By Suellen Wedmore     

Was he your father then, that handsome man?

Mothersisterdaughter, which one are you?

Diddle, diddle, dumpling, the moon fell down

a spider ago. Oh dear, what shall I do?

Miss Mary, quite contrary, oh where

are all my children now? Pease porridge wide,

when I’m singing & I waltz through a door,

someone else staggers out the other side

(of course, I crooked-step at eighty-nine

years old) & I riddle patiently bedside,

calling John, my John, & when I complain

someone whispers Mother, dear, he died.

Who fiddled me through upon a time like this,

from Little Jack to Humpty Dumpty’s kiss?