There was this sudden chill
as she sat propped up by pillows;
her breath fogged up the window glass
and then lingered for a time.
The sky was uneventful grey,
an indication of her mood,
the growing distance in her voice
At times we whispered when she slept,
sang songs when she had wakened,
and thought of her when we ate
our dinner silent.
There were days when we all sat round
not knowing what to say
and turned to listen to the skitter of feet
treading down the corridor,
belonging to some unseen face.
The day she left us
we sadly turned away,
sauntered through the ward, and out
heavy doors to find some peace
in tall trees and flowery beds
where she once sat listening
to the wind- the song of birds
lighting up her face with sun.