They wheeled you out and I thought you were dead;
Your hospital bed mirrored a casket.
I ducked down and dropped my lips to your head.
This season, I lost two people I love.
Appeals go up, if I’m able to ask it,
not to take this third soul, too, up above.
© Jonathan Pines and WritingWithStrangers, 2019, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.