of their future, robbed of their past.
Gone are the memories they thought would last.
Gone are the daughters, hone are the sons.
Gone are the grandchildren, every one.
does it come from? Where does it start?
This terrible disease that rips lives apart.
They forget a name, they forget a place.
Then pretty soon they forget your face.
breaks my heart that they won't know,
How very much we love them so.
Gloria Collins 5/10/00