The Way It Is
September of 1921.
Little George, sleeping peacefully in his crib,
Is awakened and fed.
Diapers are checked.
Shoes are tied.
A sweater is slipped on his arms
And partially buttoned.
Now, a buggy appears and
Little George is transported outside
To bask in the autumn sunshine.
September of 2008.
George, now 87 and sleeping peacefully
In a long term care facility,
Is awakened and fed.
Diapers are checked.
Shoes are tied.
A sweater is slipped on his arms
And partially buttoned.
Now, a wheelchair appears and
George is transported outside
To bask in the autumn sunshine.
Helpless when we're born
And helpless when we die.
It's the way it is.
poem by Lone Dog
Added by Poetry Lover
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