He is here, but he is not alert.
He is in his own world, away from us.
He does not speak, though people want him to.
His eyes are closed, and they will not open.
He will not move, he is no longer strong.
His skin is cool, though the room is warm.
I look down and wonder
Will he ever come home?
(March 1,2011)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem