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AT SHERIDAN MANOR

 

Here you lie
after suffering two strokes,
unable to walk.
For six years, I cared for you.
We were happy.

Now, after giving up on life,
you’re breathing your last.
Here I sit, holding your hand,
talking to you,
singing your favorite songs,
wishing you’d respond,
tell me you love me,
squeeze my hand.
I shouldn’t be here.

From That’s Life: New and Selected Poems