Unlike The Oak Tree

She age’s daily.
How sharp and strange
the bones have become
jutting like angry welts,
from beneath the wrists.
Today they removed
the wedding band.
Her fingers now too thin.
It dangles from her neck
which is better we say,
as it's closer to her heart,
she nods and smiles
then cries
for her long dead mother
to tuck her in
and bring her warm milk.

Most visits are silent.
She lends her eyes to window
and beyond. We like to think
she’s skimming pebbles
across the Thames, or hiding
from Doris behind the bombed
out bunker, or she is walking
into his arms, her tears washing
the foreign soil from his face.

Occasionally she returns
and in moments of lucidity
she scans the white wall room
and shudders.

erik99
Here too, a moving poem, only spoiled by the apostrophe in "age[']s", which is a verb, not a possessive.

Susan Jarvis
An emotive and evocative poem that gives the reader vivid glimpses of a war-torn life while death creeps ever closer. Superb title. :)

welshpoet (Chris Smith)
Great write, with a tale of sorrow of the memories of a woman, of a long ago time.