Hour upon unending hour, day upon unending day,
quietly, in her prison, our dear Jennie Butler lay.
No curses did she utter, never once did she complain,
though hands and feet were gnarled, swollen, and burning with pain.
Instead, she smiled, told us jokes, those she often would repeat,
and sing to us the old songs, in tones pleasant and sweet.
Down the hall outside her room, other voices mingled there,
mumbling and babbling or calling out in despair.
No one came to visit her, no one that we could recall,
though she waited patiently, no one ever came at all.
Published in Art With Words
Poetry Quarterly, Oct., 2005
Published in MSPS Anthology
Life on the Edge, Dec., 2005
(Aunt Juanita's roommate in the Nursing Home)