The old man lay all alone
and stared out through his haze.
I knew his eyes were almost gone
and wondered at his gaze.
Perhaps he saw his childhood
on carefree running legs.
But his legs were long-since lost
to diabetes' grasp.
To change his bed and bathe him
was my only task.
Not wanting much to startle him
I called out softly, "Sir."
He stirred his body toward me
glazed eyes focused near.
"Who's that? I don't know the voice.
What you doing' here?"
Name spoken, "I just came to help
to fix your bed and such."
"Watch out! Don't hurt me none,"
he shrank back from my touch.
"Them other ones, theys rough you know,
they jerks and pulls me 'round.
And sometimes I gets afraid
they'll drop me to the ground!"
I couldn't lift him all alone
Not causing fear or pain.
No one around, and so I went
to get the lifting frame
We talked and slowly did
the things we had to do
Refreshed and dressed
he grasped my hand
And said, "Son, God bless you.
Some folks is rough and short, and mean
and though you be a man
I wanna tell you somethin'
You got love in your hands."
© Ken Cyr
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