The following poem is from a collection of 41 written by me to try describing Huntington’s Disease (HD).
There are many good hospitals and nursing homes, and there are many bad hospitals and nursing homes. I shall leave it at that.
The Help
She sits in chair, her sloping frame,
The nurse runs by, no sound she hears.
She cannot speak the nurse’s name,
The uniform, it disappears.
Her eyes look round for someone who,
May stop a while and notice how,
Her arm is twisted, cannot move,
Her eyes are filling, crying now.
Another patient sees her face,
And grabs the cleaner; holds her tight.
She shouts that “Irene needs a hand”;
She gets shrugged off with “She’s alright.”
And so it goes for half an hour,
Til finally her family near.
And in a flash, staff rally round,
“Now Irene… Let us help you dear”.
Welcome to Authspot, the spot for creative writing.
Read some stories and poems, and be sure to subscribe to our feed!