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Looking through the windows,
At surrounding trees
Watching the leaves twitch,
In the light,
Summer breeze.
A beautiful garden,
With various colours to see,
Where do you think?
Might this place be?
There’s a distinct air,
Of peace all around
Set in this quiet,
Idyllic ground
There they can relax,
It is a tranquil place
Away from the things,
They can no longer face.
The sick and the dying,
Get great personal care
Even their families,
More than happy,
To share.
The rooms inside,
So tastefully decorated
Entire home comforts,
Have been created;
Where privacy,
And dignity,
Is all what they seek
For as their loved ones,
Become increasingly weak.
The Angels I call them,
Seem to be everywhere,
Always with a minute to spare
A chat, a hug,
Just a chance to reassure,
They can only help,
They cannot cure,
Angels I call them,
Can’t think of a better name
They share your sorrow,
They feel your pain.



Dedicated to those wonderful people that work in Hospices throughout the country.

John Baverstock

John Baverstock

My poetry is normally easy to read, hopefully you will enjoy, I write poems on many different subjects, hopefully something for everyone...
love to all
JB x
John Baverstock

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