When in pain, the world is made of seats
Where one can gain a moment of relief
Ignored are flowers however fair and pure
When pain  grows strong,we cannot  gaze,revere

But since the homeless lie on  seats at night
The council have removed them from our sight
The bus stop , seats of plastic , hurt me sore
Till I am wracked   with pain  I once ignored

I need gardens with low walls of stone
Where I  may sit and softly, clearly moan
My coat is spoiled  and now I feel  my rage
I’m no longer on the human stage.

Yet bees die if they sting us in  defence
Little in the world makes any sense

\
When of the world of doctors,I am sick.
When diagnosis is not any aid
When from the choices given,
I cannot pick
Although I feel my deepest debts were paid.
Then off from thinking I must take my mind
To gaze upon the beauty of the woods
And feel the sun not fiery, even kind.
It warms and heartens even my cold blood.
The trees are calm for they have grown deep roots
Though storms may strike their trunks and branches too
Breaking off new tender green tipped shoots
They sway and take it without much to do.
Strength needs flexibility and give;
With no such, the brittle shall not live