Home Call

The passage home

Is never lone

But accompanied by a pale wan

An escorter who transits us in a van

With our monomania with life on earth

He seems so ghastly to most of us

But to some, fuss…

Morbid they are tagged

But have we ever pondered

About the feeling of those reduced to penury

Bawl the order of their day

With no place to lay

Grateful for even the gift of a bay

Singled out with little to say…

Everything shows they are not ok

And their only comfort is found

When a raised mound

Is projected over their heads

After the steatite escorter

Reaches their doorstep

And serves their need better