Miss, Tell me your street address And I’ll point you to your home. The street lamp flickering beneath Where they stood. The alley ways filling up with Their night time doomed visions. The lady over eighty just sat Looking at the street signs; where she Couldn't remember the name anymore. Jazz singers from one street played Music in the ladies ears. She felt the beat, with each tear That fell to her feet. The same tune she heard once Before when her children were near. Leaving her alone in her new house On top of the hill. I can imagine it, Miss. The tune in my ear. Thinking everyone is crazy, those Night time ghastly visions you must see. The lady just stood there her tears now gone. She stood and twirled around. Music gliding over the few trees Dancing upon the street lights Fluttering with memories. The lady starts mumbling some words. Something must have jogged her memory. It was a brisk feeling of November Numbing her finger tips as she twirled And danced upon the street. Watching the lights dance like tiny stars Twinkling in a clear sky. She sits down forgetting the rest. A man walks up to her wearing only white. He must be here to help me, she thought. On, this cold crisp November Night. I lay back on a narrow hard bed. As he hands me a blanket, "You must be cold with the window open Elizabeth.” Yet, the music was still playing tiny Memories for me, even as he spoke. He closes the window where bars are Placed over them. Straps me in bed and turns the radio That beats in my ear off, for the night. I don’t understand what’s going on, Mister? Where am I?