Stories on a Swing
I could’ve sworn his great youth was slowly swirling,
Right in front of his hazy eyes, behind his big glasses,
In that confined space,
He talked with an unchallenged certainty,
and I recalled,
His wisdom was something that needed succession......
I wasn’t listening much,
Another burst of stories in limited time, said my little heart, SAD!
For he had no one in this world, I decided to stay,
I stared at him, sitting on the old swing,
Trying to feel his words as they lined across him,
One by one,
And each, bearing years worth of his life.
On that fine afternoon,
He told me the stories of his life,
and I quite liked it.
Dedicated to one of my patients, who died last friday at Homerton Hospital.
Mr PW, RIP