Sadened aftermath of his silver years might,
an empty chair will sit, silhouetted against his fading light,
once a fortress of stories and laughter,
now a silent monument to memories
fading under the creeping mist of dementia.

Through the window, the world whispers
in tones of twilight and shadow,
echoing the presence of a patriarch—
a guiding star dimming
in the vast, unknowable night of forgetting.

Idle shoes by the door,
Will no longer tread earth’s paths,
will no longer echo in the halls of his home.
A journey pauses before the map fully unfolds,
his steps uncertain, his mind adrift
in a sea where memories and moments of love blend.

Generations stand, like autumn poised to fall,
bearing the weight of impending loss,
her branches trembling
in the starkness of anticipated absence.

The granddaughter, now a strong wonderful woman, stands
between the pillars of his lineage—
grandfather,
hero of childhood tales, turning into a legend.
To the one lost in the mind’s fog,
She is not an angel as told, but a beacon of patience and understanding,
navigating through the minds mist with a guiding loving hand.

She carries his legacy in the making,
a weave of love and looming loss,
a book of what is and what might soon be,
written with inks of sorrow and strength,
a cloak to wear into the dawning of new days.

For in the echo of his presence,
in the spaces he still fills,
lies the resonance of his being—
a call to remember, to cherish,
and to walk onward,
bearing his light into the future,
a wind in the twilight,
guiding him home,
even as the night has not yet fully fallen. He will always carry on now and forever – in her.