He lay silent, wordless
trapped in a body of pain
no movement possible
no hope of recovery.
Outside the trees sang their arias
conducted by the breeze
it was a painting of life
his eyes rested on the light.
She sat beside him stroking his hand
passing the touch of life with every stroke
as she read poetry the soft words
familiar rhythms entered his ears
brought healing peace through this sense
as the day slipped into evening’s song
the poems became prayers.
© Carolyn O’Connell
The BeZine 
Many thanks Jamie for posting this
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