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I walk hand in hand with my wife down the hall,  
To me she is always the same.  
“I love you” she says, in her soft gentle voice  
But she doesn’t remember my name.  

Our pace is quite slow as we traverse the hall  
(Her left foot has now become lame)  
She smiles as she lovingly touches my arm  
But she doesn’t remember my name.  

"I’d like to go home with you," she often says  
 As somehow my heart fills with shame  
She wants to leave and go home with me even  
Though she doesn’t remember my name  

So, here we are, in a crisis of time  
Valiantly playing life’s game.  
I squeeze her hand and she squeezes mine back  
But she doesn’t remember my name.  

The time we have left seems so horribly short;   
Yet, there is one thing I can claim—  
There will come a time we’re together again,  
And I know she’ll remember my name.  

— Charles H. Duncan