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Her Mind, It Wanders

That’s what they say at the home.
So I picture her, little old lady with
a knapsack on her back, touring Europe,
eating baguette and cheese and grapes
on a hillside, surrounded by her traveling
companions—not scruffy college kids, but
Earl who used to farm near her farm,
Alice from the room down the hall,
Robert, Mabel, and Louise, who always
sing along on days the music therapist
visits and plays the battered old piano
in the common room, songs they know
by heart. If she wanders, let her friends
come too. If she wanders,
let it be far into joy.

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