The poorest of the poor, a priest once said,
All those who live behind doors they know not,
From whence they came or whom they are,
Many admit not and more reason less.
We watch them come and wander aimlessly,
Each to their own little bit of fantasy,
Words are spoken with little grasp of sense,
The wisdom once gained now lost in cranium.
Now Helen, now Grace, see John, Hi Mary,
Names we know and more there are,
An endless line of souls once so vibrant,
Now becomes a list, known only to God.
Wonder so often do we dare think of them,
Once exactly as us in look and dance,
How our lives so full of vim and vigor,
So soon might change to lifeless degree.
Oh how often he came, to see the one he loved,
She stares or stumbles, yet his love never wanes,
To her he says, without stammer of blame,
My love is for you and for you I’ll remain.
Then one day, so often it happens to many,
He appears no more and we wonder what happened,
His life now changed due to illness or death,
Her life continues on waiting each day.
That day never comes and she wonders not why,
For she too must wait for a reason and time,
When at last with God the call will come,
For the poorest of the poor shall be the first.
Personal note: my brother-in-law, Leo, who cared for his mother with some dementia, never married and devoted his life to care for his 98 year old mother. He tragically passed away from a massive stroke at 60 and Grace never knew. This was dedicated to them both.