Ida's Note

THE BALTIMORE EVENING SUN

Written in the doctor's waiting room,

her note contained three questions and a poem:

How many more cobalts, approximately?

What sort of injections? and why big tummy?

Time has trodden heavily through mires;

longevity itself bears healing powers.

Birth, a miracle which needs no "whys;"

Death, far back in a drawer of the mind,

brought out in sadness, then folded away in time

to hide the "forever," not for us the steady

with all our tomorrows, tomorrows, stacked and ready.

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