When Angels Wept

He was seated
at a table by the window
A lone, frail, bent figure
Other inmates were absorbed
in repeating tales often told
from their eventful past;
His unsteady hands were shaking
much more than usual
The first spoonful of soup spilt on the table
The second on to his shirt
The third, he barely managed
to get a few drops to his trembling lips
A vacant look in his glazed eyes
Looking without seeing
Tears welling up
Falling, merging with the soup
in his bowl

His gaze went back
to the window
Lunch, being the only time
He was able to walk down and wait….
Wait, wait, endlessly wait
For the mail
For a phone call
For a visit
From his children
Grandchildren
Friends
Relatives
Strangers
anybody
at least a handshake
to show that
Somebody cared
during his twilight years

The loud voice of the matron
And the gong announced
That meal time was over
She gave him a scornful look
Not a word of concern
that he had not eaten
Even her frosty smile
would have made him happy;
Resigning himself
to his share of profound grief
He picked up the newspaper
his only faithful companion

Others his age seemed happier
Yet, he prayed for an extension
Of one more day in his life
A flicker of hope
Among dying embers
Praying that the morrow
Would bring the visitor
He so longed to see………