LONGING
She sat huddled in her old rocking chair,
Longing to talk to someone out there,
Her fading eyes seeing only dim forms,
She longed for a gentle touch that warms.

She longed to hold a little brand new baby,
Some one, today, will bring one in maybe,
Sitting waiting for a visitor who had the time,
Stop to say hello, sharing her time with mine.

She longed to feel the warm sun on her face,
Longed to walk upright again at a steady space,
Her eyes were closed, yet she was not asleep,
Memories of young days in her mind did creep.

When others, not staff, come to stop and visit,
Share stories about the weather or other tid-bit,
Is that someone coming, or going past me?
Oh, how I long clearly once again to see.

The figure stopped, smiled and called her by name,
Chatted about the weather and the need for rain,
She talked happily, rambled a little, she didn’t care,
Someone was with HER, holding her hand right there.

I’ll come again and visit the voice from the blur said,
If you are not sitting here I’ll soon find your bed,
Can you bring a brand new baby, just to gently hold?
My friend is due in two months I’ll ask her she was told.

That night she passed away so happy she had a friend,
Although she did not hold the baby before her end,
She knew some stranger cared enough to come and see
And talk with and spend some time with a longing old lady.

M Ann Margetson April 19, 2002