A nation is not of land nor borders, nor people
Israel dispersed and vanished, Jews remain
Mongols destroyed, yet the land is Ishmael's
Once there were seventy nations, today only one

Bring to me your broken down
Your rattling and cracked
Send me all your fractured hearts
The pains; the sprains and smarts

Deliver to me your wounded
Your tortured mentally alone
Pass to me your elderly infirm
The babies born before their term

Rush to me your weak of will
Your dependant; addicted and lost
Blow to me those down on their knees
The drunk. Morose. Self-inflicted injuries

Laugh with me at human things
Your odd accidents and stories
Triage with me as I tend the wound
Make you better than the you I found

Present to me your desperate
Your shattered and your morbid
Breathe with me as surgery makes well
Exhale! On my skill your fate befell

Lay on me your one in three
Your canker’d and your wretched
Move to me those at end of time
When curtain falls on final pantomime

Please bear with me when times get hard
When I slip up and make odd mistake
Pray for me at seventy. No dotage; still I strive
So proud to play my part in keeping you alive

Raise thanks with me for visionary
My creator; father Aneurin Bevan
Have patience with me when I seem slow
Many patients to see in daily ebb and flow.

©pofacedpoetry (Billy Reynard-Bowness 2018 – All rights reserved)

A day unlike today.
The fresh fallen snow ,
The sparkling in my lovers eyes.
I want to be with Her forever
Even if we only make it to seventy.
The love, the beauty of a woman in my life.
The only thing that separates me from the rest.
Is her.
Those eyes,
Those lips,
The way she loves me and only me.
Its spectacular.