When another dies, it’s we who’re gone.

Kindness,comfort,solace,arms held wide.

A tender hand that s gently strokes the  hair.

The Lord no longer with us does abide.

And leaves us to caress our own despair.

Independent,solo,  a real self

Can one be real without the hands of friends?

What is missing from our national health?

Who’ is with us ,who  does condescend?

Was said one time by a great  poet Donne

When another dies, it’s we who’re gone.

Seems long ago, God lost his only Son..

In suffering it made us all to one.

We cannot grow  in isolation cold.

Take my hand and we shall always hold