Gently, very gently She held the child in her arms She was a mother, a protector And would shield her from all of life’s harms. Or at least that’s what the lady thought As she leaned down to coo and smile As she breathed her nicotine breath on her And passed germs to her baby so vile. The child at four got cancer At six she’s no longer here Yet the mother still smokes in her sorrow For those who won’t listen never hear.
A man gave his all at work today he strove with his usual endeavour, but the father whose child he saved this day will now always love him forever. A nurse, overstretched, yet so willing, will care for her patients all day; yet they will not hear her ever complain she leaves that till she’s far away.
When sitting in a pub with those such as she she lets go the strain and then moans no patient will ever hear her though nor any parent feel her tired angst for they are ever so grateful as they smile and give her their thanks.
A bed is moved by two young men in a quiet and dignified way it’s just one of many singular things that make up a porters day. And all of the time, the ladies will keep the wards so flush and the things they see, but don’t see as they work with their mop and brush.
And the patient lies there quiet and inert as a battle-royal takes place but we see that progress is being made as bewilderment slowly slips from her face. Small steps we take each one of us as we live with fingers crossed every person is pulling their weight and no-one will stop whatever the cost. Hope springs Love abounds.
The days are long and tiring. Each thought process a giant effort, and yet, struggle as she may, progress is made. She signed her name – today. Laugh heartily she would and perhaps get the giggles, but it was all in the box, that strange bunch of squiggles. Though bewilderment still lingers behind her sad eyes even at this moment from as far as can be another journeys here to help her get free. That someone would forego the home of their birth and with their beloved come to this land of his, is an enormity that leaves me breathless with pride and love. But she will see her brother soon and her sad eyes will surely brighten at the sight. Hope springs. Love abounds…
How still she lies, how very still Silent puzzlement behind her eyes Yet she’s our girl, our darling prize And she possesses powerful will. Slowly opened eyes, then closed She awakes just a little this way She smiles when she sees her children today Though her speech is now carefully composed.
So we remain hopeful that she’ll win this fight And return to the family that knows and that fears Who’ve watched as she’s battled for over two years And who all dread another call in the night.
Yet still there’s the cancer, that terrible ill That has raged there inside her this long while And through even that she always would smile As with chemo she fought, and her powerful will.
So we sit, hold her hand, and watch her now sleep As the flickering memories start to fall into place And I see as her mother wipes a tear from her face For we both sit — and quietly weep.
It was the being hungry that drove him as he carefully sorted through the broken and rotting detritus that was left by me and you he rarely found a full bag, nor ever an item that was clean for people dispose of rubbish in disgusting ways that he used to find obscene.
He’d walked with his head held high once – another time in the past But a fear of the crowded, noisy hospital wards – had shown itself at last.
He found that he couldn’t cope with the pain in the now far distant eyes of the people who recently lost loved ones and their pleas and desperate cries.
He took off his white jacket and walked out of the ward one day and try as he did he was never able to go back there again.
He still read books as he wanted to seem to himself at least to be trying but it was all so many years ago and these days the hunger pain stung and though he’d only had his street skills he had somehow survived despite the cancer inside him that was even now eating away at his lung.
When he had enough bits that he could once again call a meal he slipped away from the others in the street to find a quiet spot for the one thing that he had learned almost straight away is that anyone – anyone – will steal what little bit you’ve got.
He was used now to seeing dead bodies – as other street people died from hunger and disease and other times – just from being alone some of the older ones always seemed weak and so fragile and in winter they’d often end up frozen – frozen to the bone.
The days were getting shorter now and he often felt very insecure he knew that his lungs were getting much worse and cold would weaken them badly the winter would bring his last days this time as he struggled so hard to cope he’d never expected to die on the street but he’d do it now quite gladly.