An infant again:

Feeling blest 'coz I could carry my mom;
Like how she'd have carried me in my childhood;
Dementia has made my mom back to childhood;
All childhood days are back and bright for her;
Not to miss the mirth of childhood;
No space for envy or wrath.
Small joys are of immense pleasure indeed;
My mother now is a small bundle of peace and love;
With no anguish nor cares of the world.