Here’s an old poem that is a part of my heart, and written about the final time I took my wife to hospital…… I eventually became brave enough to submit this piece, and I was fortunate enough to have this poem published, in the Geelong Writers Inc, Anthology of 2017.
‘Til Death Do Us Part
She’s there, in that tall pale building of brick.
Where the Nightingales care and tend to the sick.
She’s there, away from home and her comforting bed.
Where the Doctors try to fix the endless ills, from her head.
She’s there, her absence, reminds me of future plights.
Where my anxieties for her well being, endure her fight.
She’s there, I need to visit her, all day, and every night.
Where the distance to reach her soul, is out of sight.
She’s there, I’m wondering about that far away dome.
Where her lost personal affection, would leave her all alone.
She’s there, in those misty clouds, with church bells ringing.
Where she’s near to the sombre sounds, of angels singing.
She’s there, her constant pain, remains tight in my heart.
Now I’m convinced, like I said, at the very start.
There’s no place like home, for her gathering dark.
And I promise to her, again, ’til death do us part.
Ivor Steven (c) 2012