She calls from four thousand miles away
when others think she is resting
still weak, breathless, disoriented.
Another mini-stroke after a fall
but not to 'worry'!
Then we hear all the stories;
how she hides things
doesn't want to shower
won't use her walker, her oxygen,
sneaks pills from the cabinet.
I wish there was a pill
for this ache in my heart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem