Ronnie Roberts The 2nd

Rookie (Gaithersburg Maryland)

Mr. Edward Tate - Poem by Ronnie Roberts The 2nd

The nursing home was short of heat,
I was on my way to the thermostat,
After I folded each sheet so proper and neat.
The hallway echoed, so quiet and empty, so hard to believe.
It was Christmas Eve, I had realized,
right before I heard whispered cries.
It came from 208,
Mr. Edward Tate
I tip toed my way to the door, as the whimpering grew louder
sniffles mixed an occasional whistle,
complimented a fallen tear, my hearing is crystal
Three curious knocks, two handle twists only to realize the door was locked,
and one man crying had then stopped
The hallway again became silent,
“Mr. Tate? ” I asked, no answer.
“Mr. Tate”? I firmly spoke, still no response
My heart dropped into my stomach, this was no lie
“GO AWAY! ” screamed a disgruntled Mr. Tate,
who again began to weep
It was Christmas Eve, and he could not leave,
stuck here till he can no longer breathe, his family doesn’t visit,
depression coming for him fast, his wife passed the Sunday before last,
Mr. Tate had it bad.

“You have no clue, put on my shoes; you must first take a step before you walk a mile.”
Objected Mr. Tate, as if he knew what I had been thinking
“Mr. Tate, I’m sorry it’s this time of year once again,
but it’s a great time, may I come in? ”
“Yeah, yeah, a great time my foot, fine come in, what was it you wanted again? ”
I slowly opened the door; a cold breeze came up from the floor
I flipped the light switch, sat on a chair, I grew much colder than before
Mr. Tate seemed to not care of the cold, yet his face was blue.
“I must first apologize for the coldness of the room”
“Its fine” replied Mr. Tate, “what is it you have to say? Its 11: 59 and that’s quite late”
I reached into my pocket and pull out a picture,
“Look Mr. Tate, hers a picture of my daughter, Lisa Pitcher.
she was only 8, she passed a year ago today, that’s why Christmas to me is great, and it’s a time of family togetherness and nothing less”
He seemed surprised; his words held down with a heavy weight,
it was very quiet in room 208

“Love is Christmas and nothing less, Out of all the rooms on each floor,
you know this the very best, that’s why you’re my favorite guest,
room 208. So I do have a clue, put on my shoes,
but you must first take a step before you walk a mile.”

Mr. Tate first gave a grin, and then a wholesome smile and said:
“Its midnight, I wish you a merry Christmas Mr. Pitcher, we both walked that mile. I would love for you to chat and stay awhile”

I then skipped the grin, shed a tear “Of course ill stay awhile, Mr. Tate” gladly returned the wholesome smile, forgetting it had been rather late…


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Poem Submitted: Saturday, December 19, 2009

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