When the Saints Go Marching In

Hanging on to bed rails

of compassion, in a hospice room

watching life slowly drift away

family come and go

throughout the day

She quietly sleeps in

the confines of her mind

everyone making

small talk, grasping

her hand with hope..

OH WAIT...

I think she heard me her eyes

moved..everyone inches closer

just to catch a glimpse..

The days tiredly slip away

one after the other..

sleeping in a winged arm chair

hovering the bed, everyone taking

turns..wondering who will be with

her in the final moment..

passing the gateway when no one is

watching, I guess she wanted to

go in silence, her own way

 

Standing around a granite stone

etched rose, baring her name

we say our good-byes as the blues

softly play,  trees gently sway

a saxophone echoes through

the land of the departed. We

stand together tears in our eyes

O when the Saints go marching in
 When the Saints go marching in
  O Lord, I want to be in that number
   When the Saints go marching in

Posted for Poets United writing about cancer
February 4th is World Cancer Day

written in memory of a family member

who lost the battle of breast cancer may
she rip...