She was always a woman of heavy sighs,
A little grey clung to the corner of her skies.
A savage maelstrom stole her breath,
Smote her heart like pitiless death.
She lay leveled, bereft of the power to rise,
Stripped of the instinct or will to survive.
But a peeping hope pecked at her heart,
And a man’s roughened hand,
Led her from the nether haunts,
He coaxed her to ebb and flow like the tide,
She tipped up her face, scanned the vast sky,
And tentative, explored the morning seaside.
Paula Lyons, MD
November 1985