Talismanic pierrot, sitting, watching,
as the old man sits, considering.
Staring eyes, to urge him out.
Starry cheeks, give up new will.
Pack the dinner in, old man.
Don't give up, accepting fate.
Pack it in, and out you go,
hospital's no place to die.
Go on home, where you are close,
close to happiness you knew,
love you ever cared about.
Slow, he packed the dinner in.
Each forced forkful, feeding will.
Out he went, to die, in hope
of his lost, returning love.
04Sept1989 CPR
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem