The heavy smell smacked me
As I walked into the small house
Yellowed walls and faded furniture
Crowded the tiny room.

Sitting on the couch
Was a tiny withered man
Worn by age and ready
To move on.

The wrinkles on his face
Framed his dark brown eyes
Each wrinkle earned and
Each with its own story.

Tired limbs hung
From this antique burdened body
Once part of a whole
Now only a fraction of what was.

Health seemed to fade in
And out of the room
Yearning for both comfort
And for life.

I left not knowing
Which would conquer
Realizing what I have
Left to spend.

About the author: I am a Senior at Robert Morris University in Pittsburgh, PA.  I wrote this poem about a man I took care of, I work as a care giver, never knowing if my patients will live from day to day.

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