I am not a poet, but occasionally some lines will pop into my head, so I write them down. That happened now and then when I was working at the hospital, and one day I realized I was writing one for a patient, “Bob”
He was an elderly black man with a large, loving family and his illness dragged over a number of years, the last two keeping him almost completely bedridden. He had congestive heart failure, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) and diabetes.
One of the great joys in Bob’s life, besides his family, was music. He sang in his church choir, and one daughter said he sang around the house all the time. She could remember having song fests when she was young, and they would sing all the popular songs as well as church songs.
During Bob’s hospital stays we would sing whenever he felt up to it, and often our singing would draw other folks in the room for a chorus or two, including nurses.
To hear Bob sing “Precious Lord” was a tremendous blessing.
One time when I brought the young man from Rehab Day Services to sing with Bob, he cried. I can still see the smile that lit up Bob’s face, despite the tears, and he said, “That boy sings like an angel.”
Bob's delight in music touched my heart in a special way, and I finally realized one day that the snatches of poetry in my journal had been inspired by him. And I knew this poem was for him.
Sing the song of life,
Carry it deep in your heart
Where the melody reaches out
And plays to the rhythm of your soul.
Dance the song of life.
Rejoice in it,
Let it carry your soul
To the far reaches of the heavens
Where God dwells.
When the song is ending,
As the final note draws near,
Rejoice in it,
For the song never really dies.
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