No Care (Stream XIX)
Here where no one cares,
Careworn she lies sick in the fetid air.
The sick room smell, lies rank upon her.
And she so sick, tries to rise,
But some immovable force holds her down
Too sick to rise.
No angel ministers her fevered brow
Nor comes with swift and gentle aids.
Like old news she lies forgotten
Abandoned, useless, broken.
No progeny from her barren womb
To ease her passage through old age.
Or send her a loving last farewell
A kiss to ease her on the road to her demise.
And he she loved with tender care
Gone, lost in a war these long years past.
Footsteps pass her door
And feebly she calls out,
No answer comes.
No foot across her threshold falls,
Forgot by all,
She dies alone.
P H Brookes Copyright 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
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