I’m Here
The Sun fell down the usual way:
Gold to pink to black.
The end of another tawny Spring day,
And no, they’re not coming back.
Too many deaths on Hall 5:
Cancer, Dementia, and Heart Attack;
Old and young lives fading away;
Don’t care our hospice census is on track.
The Moon creeped out its old way:
Half to gibbous on passing high;
Poor professionals lacking an out to pray—
Is it really okay for the licensed to cry?
Tomorrow returns the Sun in bust:
Azure to pink to hot white.
Not only families ache when loved ones return to dust.
Come, sit, and let’s talk a mite….
Posted on March 31, 2015, in Poem and tagged being natural, boundaries, cancer, census, crying, dawn, death, dementia, family, feeling, Heart Failure, hospice, licensed professionals, loss, love, openness, praying, sadness, Spring, sunset, support, talking, the Moon, the passing days, the Sun. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.
Kitt
pueriles 