Has brought them to a point
Where they shuffle slowly in their frames
Or sit quietly in their chairs
Sustained by remnants of memory,
Waiting for they know not what.
Weep for them, shed your tears,
But in this life of vulnerable mortality
Time has gifted them abundance of years.
The weight of Time's gifts has bent them,
Carried them at last to the great, dark portal
Through which all life must flow,
Carried them ceaselessly along
With one final gift to bestow,
The release into serenity,
Into quiet, conscious-less eternity,
Time's final gift of letting them go.