Prayer Would Have Been Preferred

Yesterday I got a call, she said her name was Joan.
Her husband had been injured and he was all alone.

As chaplain could I visit him until she could get there?
Because she wanted him to know she’d sent someone to care.

The doctor said the patient was really doing well.
How soon he’d be released, only time would tell.

The man had had an accident and couldn’t make a sound.
There was a notebook by his bed so he could write things down.

A tube inserted in his nose and on his neck a brace
But what I noticed first was the smile upon his face.

I searched for things to say as I stood there by his bed.
He began to show distress and motioned with his head.

The pad and pencil there, could that be what he wanted?
He began to motion frantically, I saw he’d not be daunted.

He grabbed the pencil from my hand and scribbled in the book,
Then he fell back on his bed, before I had a chance to look.

Then bells began to ring and lights began to flash,
Everything from that time on became a frantic dash.

That night I told the grieving wife, “I was with him ’til the last.
I never saw one’s health before, deteriorate so fast.”

And then I thought about the book and handed it to Joan.
What loving words had he written to cause her awful moan?

She gave the notebook back to me; her look was far from kind.
The man had written six short words, “You’re standing on my O2 line!”

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