The worries of a mind slowly being lost to time and age
|Eyes that once were steely purpose
Now unfocused by age, weep with memories.
Hands once strong and useful to their work,
Now wring bony fingers
One over another, or brush at
A straying hair of white cotton wool.
A nurse, officially busy, hurries
Through mazes of chairs and her
Medicinal duties and has not time
To stop and attend to the stories
Of each and every patient that once lived
In youthful indifference to time.
She doesn't hear the frail voice,
Struggling with conscience and mind
"Who pays my bill?" it calls out and
"Do you know?"
From every pounding beat
Of approaching steps it inquires.
She never knew a young woman,
The eldest of orphan siblings,
Well-acquainted with want and hard labor,
Shuffling invoices between
Shifts at the factory
Gas or electric, shoes or grocer.
She knows the hair of cotton wool
Spilling over a worried, furrowed brow
And hands that working a trade still,
Furiously wringing out upon the tray.
The thin voice, frail and quivering that pleads
“Please, who pays my bill?"
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