Black pudding is not a dessert

Neither is steak and kidney pudding

Gravy is not grave.

Why do we stuff joints?

What if the moon fell from the sky

And all the Bishops told us lies?

Viruses are out to play

We wonder which of us must pay

The snow fell softly on the graves

Who will spend and who will save

Snow up in the Pennines dressed the hills

Though the cautious thought àbout their wills

Illness pain and treatment sap our strength

Till we wonder is there something left

Why accept the suffering and the angst

Does any God seem worthy of our thanks?

Don’t exercise like soldiers on parade

Be like a tree that in soft breezes sways

The frost and sun make images that sing

To our human hearts much joy they bring

Be less active, let perception be

All that matters to humanity

The pathos of her howl cuts through my bones

Dementia is the illness noone knows

For hours of night and day she calls again

The staff are underpaid,yet care remains

Yet should sick people have to hear her. cries

As some of us will live yet some will die