Do not speak of empathy to me

In my warm nest I lie with morning angst
I have no wish to rise  up from my bed
Slowly turn the wheels of mind unthanked
Lady Lazarus no,forI am not yet dead.

I see an image of my husband dear
His face was  black while he sat on the chair
He fell onto my bosom in despair
The suffering of the old is far from rare.

Inside a rehab centre  they placed him
A dying man was sent to  exercise
Pneumonia and his heart made this a sin
They sentenced him to death with their cold eyes

None so blind as those who will not see
Do not speak of empathy to me