Words After A Sick Room Visit - Poem by Bill Grace
The well, the strong,
Will never understand the sick, the broken,
Till the Great Deomocrat comes.
It is easy to pretend that we do not hear the cold wind
because it is not felt upon our necks.
Still the sound persists
Though reality denies sight its form.
To summon energy to fight or to surrender,
I would not judge the cause.
But even in defeat this earth can be sweet
And leaving it no easy task.
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