The Care Giver

The face that spoke of suffering
is now, forever, still
The torture done,
Her race is run,
Her effigy serene.
Yet as she lingered by death's door
your kind voice could be heard-
Your gently spoken words of Love-
She cherished every word.
If there is life beyond this life
its far beyond our ken.
At least she knew your gentle touch
at this journeys end.

poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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