No other state in this world old
Can unclothes the inner soul
And strips us of the pride we hold
As that of illness which takes control
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When its rapid course increase
Day by day we become deplete
Until we are weaken off our feet
To remain quite ill for many weeks
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Then we lay at mercy's cold feet
Amoung our weepings and loud groans
Sometimes bed-ridden at home alone
Our only contact is the phone
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In such a state of illness's grip
All our pride tends to slip
Flowing through our fingertips
Growing worst and totally whipped
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Sick to the soul's deepest core
Not the strong persons we were before
Laying just outside death's door
All our shame spilled on the floor
copyrightŠ2006Irene
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Note:
As a patient in the hospital for
months, I realized that being unable
to do anything for myself was one of
the worst experiences in my life.
