Alive now 16 years in widowhood,
and doing better than we thought she would
(with sedentary habits, smoking, stress,
we’ve been astounded at her heartiness,
and some opine she’s too mean for the dark –
she’ll send the Reaper packing, with a bark),
I see her start to lose herself of late.
Her talk’s compressed, her recollection’s pale.
Unwilling to attempt to cogitate,
her personality begins to fail.
She may endure, my care will carry on,
but what was a relationship, is gone.