Primary Care Poem by David Nelson Bradsher
Primary Care
She rises painfully—without complaint—
haloed by silver-white in feathered hair,
and she assists her husband from his chair,
dragging her shadow like a burdened saint.
She wears the mantle, stooped in silhouette,
of one diminishing by sacrifice,
when giving care becomes her sole device
to pay the interest of a crippling debt.
This is so good David, I loved the read, and re-read it twice and loved it even more. Very well written. Love and hugs Ernestine XXX
This poem touched me in ways you can't imagine. Thanks you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 1:24:35 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Thank you both. I truly appreciate it.