Dull grey cabinets, posters on the wall,
Overalls in grubby white passing through the hall,
Stretcher beds, beige, blue, seating for a few,
The white welcome posts do duty all year through.
Awaiting diagnoses, anxious patients call,
Yet information filters slowly, at a crawl.
Patience, a virtue, tried and tested too,
Applies elastic strings to Time, judgements askew.
Through age, illness, accident, Death nets all.
Independence? – truly few retain the wherewithal.
Every day brings query, quandary adds to
New isolation, illness, tests as wills unglue.
Count all your blessings, be life fine or squall,
Each soon accounts must render, with Death’s pall.
Jonathan ROBIN
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hospital-acrostic-sonnet/
