Written after a sleepless night...
Two years on -
and I want to rejoice,
but I don't really feel like rejoicing.
Not like I did
in those early days
when 'home' seemed all that mattered.
When each day dawned like a gift -
and a chance
to do a bit more,
stumble a bit less.
When we gave back the bath chair
and the walking stick.
And they gave you back your license.
But it isn't the same, is it?
As before.
We don't really talk any more.
We sit at the cafe
and stare at the menu.
We sit down to breakfast
and out comes the paper.
We sit on the couch
and on goes the box.
And I ache to know your story!
Mind you...
Your face still lights up
when the peacocks visit
and you laugh out loud
at the Wizard of Id.
Two years on.
Oh what the heck - let's celebrate!!
a page teared from real life...