Olga S. Hardman
What a relief!
He says its o.k. –
This is the fifth time –
Sliced open by a scalpel
In a shiny, bright room.
What do they do with worn-out,
It’s hard to contemplate parts of my own skeleton
Heedlessly thrown in a trash can.
But now I feel like celebrating!
Don’t know whether to fly down the road in my new car -
Or have a cocktail.
Think I’ll just thank my Creator for another chance -
To walk through a field of daisies,
Stand up to hug a friend,
Or put a comb through the coat of my precious Westie.
Yesterday I was 74 –
But now that the physical therapy is almost over –
I feel good as new -
I’m born again.
©2002 Olga S. Hardman