Ol willy conner

A poem inspired by a homevisit yesterday. The client lived alone and needed assistance but Noone has seen him in months. It really got me thinking about life and death and the difference people make.

Ol' willy conner
Such a poor soul
No place to call home
Not even his own

The grass over grown
A wrench of a sight
Cracks on pavements
With Daisy's pushed aside

No doorbell to ring
and no guest will gather
No plates prepared
And no glass to shatter

A bit of dust on concrete
And pear autumn leaves
the trees lay bare
As Adam and eve

Ol willy conner
When asked around
the mail hasn't been checked
the garbage wasn't left out

He hasn't been seen
The neighbors confirm
Bout 2 or 3 months
Since he last was heard

To breathe your last
To buy the farm
To meet your maker
We all must pass on

No Facebook wall post
No rings from a phone
The truth is there's death
And then there's dying alone