Waiting For God

Sitting by the window looking out Over the manicured lawn green, Black birds and robins did shout Their calling, wanting to be seen. Memories were his only comfort Of his dear wife of years gone by. Life now seemed to be so short, So lonely, he’d sometimes cry. His family seldom visited him Waiting for God at the farm They came once a month on a whim In the hope he hadn’t come to harm. Surrounded by others the same age Old and infirm in their ways Writing their last paragraph on the page Waiting at the end of their days