Jenny Butler

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)

agelonelinesspaincouplet

♡Like0

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.