"A Private Grief"

The man was so proud and so private
He didn't need questions so trite
Or the camera and microphone pointing
To capture his grief and his plight
He had difficulty holding the tears back
His voice was not terribly clear
It broke with an answer forthcoming
His sentiments too sad to hear
He'd just lost his mother to Covid
Her care home had suffered too bad
And now he had lost some one precious
The only sweet mother he had
She'd been a nurse too in her heyday
In those days when care always came first
She'd been horrified it's now a business
With figures and targets perverse
The home had been cruelly infected
Protection had come way too late
Both carers and residents waiting
For the news that reported their fate
So his mother was just one more number
A cross on a roll call of names
One less pension to pay from the coffers
No finger to point any blames
The virus had silently held her
And took away life with it's stealth
The man could not hold his own mother
Could not bring her right back to full health
All he could do was remember
The wonderful mother she'd been
As he watched her eyes close from a distance
And see the nurse moving a screen
And now all the media  gathered
To highlight the home's lack of aid
A mass of flashlights and reporters
An un-sensitive dark cavalcade
Grief is a private emotion
Something no one is privy to share
So the man ran away from the spotlight
To sit in his mothers arm chair
To reflect and to grieve for a moment
And to cherish remarkable years
In private releasing emotions
As he suddenly bursts into tears.

By David Whitney    c 2020