A bit of poetry

In memory of my first palliative patient. A local Tealady.

She used to bring the tea,

Now it comes to her, sitting on her tray.

She was the centre of conversation,

Now silence surrounds her, only broken by the beeps of machines.

She created laughter,

Now there are only tears, her visitors weep.

She brought sustenance,

Now she does not need it, nothing passes her lips.

She would comfort others,

Now slowly comfort comes, via a subcut infusion.

She was full of warmth,

Now it slowly slips away, the tea goes cold.


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