And, sometimes it is that the poem is too powerful in our heads, we haven't got the umph to bring such a mighty thing into shape.
This poem has too much going on behind it; I've posted one or two different versions before, I'll probably post one or two more. Why? Because this is an end of it for now.
The poem you said I should write.
A nurse named Yesterday arrived on your ward ̶
her grandmother died the day before she was born.
She was gone in a matter of days.
Nurses from the agency come and go, you said;
good relationships are important for patients.
We talked about the sentence of always being Yesterday.
You died; and I cannot put a name to this poem.
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