V.A.

Over the past twenty-three years we have logged countless hours sitting in V.A. waiting rooms. I wrote this poem when we first began. It still rings true.

V.A.
A multitude of people;
none known to me by name.
We meet and pass in silence,
with each it is the same.

Some walk alone, eyes downcast;
some laugh with one close by;
some gaze with eyes of sorrow;
some smile and softly sigh.

The ragged and the wealthy,
the simple and the sage,
the young and old together
for suffering knows no age.

A multitude of faces;
You know each one by name.
You see beneath the surface,
no two are quite the same.

You know each need and sorrow,
with eyes of love You see.
You long to touch these needy hearts -
but it must be through me.

Linking to Emily's imperfect prose today.



Blessings,
Linda