Torn Slippers

A short poem about memories

Torn slippers



She always loved to dance.

From morning till night

Alone as one, while searching for the light



She twirled and swann across the floor

Hoping to hear the applause

But the crowds are merely memories

As she peeps out from her door



Her slippers are old and torn now

And her bunions cry louder than the orchestra

But the music still plays in her mind

As she glides along the corridor



Flowers would abound her

Roses lying at her feet

Her days were filled with dancing

As her body moulded, to the beat



The music is hard to hear

As the picture fades away

It’s hard to remember

While standing in the shade





Seventy five years ago

Her slippers were soft and supple

Unlike her memories

Fading into rubble





Room twenty one is her stage now

At Sunnyside village nursing home

Where she sips tea with friends

And imagines her farewell finale





Enters stage one

Left of the light

And into the night

Her last, swansong







Australian grammar and spelling