But, Love

Her butt hurt, all the time, it hurt

No matter the dose of tylenol,

She claimed to be in pain, it hurt

She pleaded for the emergency room

But heard ‘there, there lady, someone will see you soon’

In the ER, many only gave her pills and creams

And just assumed it was all in her dreams

This is because she has dementia, and sometimes

She thinks she might actually be Oscar de la Renta

No dress, no hat nor shirt, can relieve her hurt, even as she yells out in spurts

Staff also constantly complain, that this patient is in pain,

She has seen hospital walls and specialists offices

Without any break from the hurt in her spines vestiges

Except no pill, no medication, no salve nor injection

Could ever cure this hurt, she just needed loves reflexion

Every hour, every pill, the pain churns

Until she finds Larry and the loving calm, it begins its final healing turn

This is love without passion, but merely admiration

A love where hands held is sufficient dedication

The only time she doesnt complain, — it is insane -

Is when she is walking the path with Larry, or in his quiet room

Medicine has its limits, and love and comfort are an ultimate broom

Sweeping away the pain we cannot,

It is love’s healing power that is never for naught

And it can even cure a sore butt, one that western medicine thought

Was just another old, demented, silly twat

-Butt Love-

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