It doesn't seem like
Christmas.
Mom and Dad are gone,
the kids are grown; there's no
snow on the ground, and
I'm in the psych ward again.
There is a dead dog loneliness
about the place,
All the patients are asleep,
and it's too early to get
my meds.
Coffee has replaced
vodka in my diet, and
I feel like I'm in a
battle without a shield.
Even the pen I wield
isn't as sharp as it
used to be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hang in there. The coffee is better for you than the vodka. Soon there will be people around. Merry Christmas.