returning to the nursing home environment, where we spent many weeks with Melanie as she went through rehab, the lonely ones came to mind again.
Against the walls in halls from home
The gentle hearts cry all alone
In diapered dependence they cling
to dignity behind the curtained veil.
In silence they weep as those about
howl and wail.
To make the climb past eighty only
to tumble to the treating as a baby
With trembling hands
faint vision
muffled sound
unable to stand alone
And all they want is to be at home.
Pray for the gentle hearts left
to die in the institutions of the aged
Conveniently forgotten assuming
their needs are met.
But what we fail to see
or hear
or smell
As we repose in our summer places
resting under the shady trees
listening to the gurgling brook
muffled fro their weeping
in the halls at night
Far
Far
From home.
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