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I awoke and stared at the ceiling, absent minded last and my limbs with no feeling.

I attempted to raise my weary head, but my body was rigid and filled with lead.

I was all alone in this place so I thought, when from the corner of my eye a
stranger I sought.

I called to this man and asked his name, his tone resigned and he said Mr. Lane.

I asked of his ailments and duration of stay, his response quite emphatic that
here he would lay.

I noticed the window above his aged head, and replied at least you have a view
I enviously said.

I cannot rise to your window to see this beautiful day, so tell me kind sir, do you
see the children play.

He rose to the window with a tear in his eye, and I reassured him, now kind
sir there’s no need to cry.

He announced that the sun was shining its glorious light, while the children chase butterflies with wondrous delight.

The soft breeze is making the daffodils dance and sway to and fro, oh it’s simply magical with bright yellow glow.

The birds they are a chirping a most incredible tune, this is a sensational
spring time in bloom.

He lay back on his bed and closed his eyes, I thank him profusely and began to realize.

One day I would rise and walk into a world with appreciation of the smallest things, and offer gratitude even for the smallest nettle stings.

At night he described how the moon shone so bright, enhancing the stars in
the darkness of night.

Every day and night Mr. Lane describe the wonders he could see, to the outside world he was my key.

One morning I woke and felt all alone, for my dear friend Mr. Lane was absent,
he had gone.

His bed lay empty only memories remained, his window was sodden as it constantly rained.

I called to the nurse and enquired of his being, and sadly she said Mr. Lane you won’t be seeing.

For Mr. Lane is heaven, as late last night the good lord did take him away, to
a much finer place I can honestly say.

I wept at my loss for my dearest friend, our treasured conversation had come
to an end.

She passed me a letter he’d asked her to write, I opened it carefully and began to recite.

My dear friend my time has come to an end, I write to say thank you for
being my friend.

I offer you my window as longer required, one you deserve and often desired.

The moments we shared both pleasure and joy, I wish you well my friend,
god bless dear boy.

As the nurse was leaving, and I shed a tear, I announced after her that no
finer man would appear.

For Mr. Lane was a gentleman, warm and kind, whom I had no fear, She turned
with her eyes sodden and whispered into my ear.

Some strange things in life you will see and often find, but my friend also
Mr. Lane was blind.



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The following comments are for "The Window"
by ukamigo





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