In A Perfect World

Those frail souls
who are unsure where they are,
who shout at the air
because they, but not us,
can see something familiar
or frightening there,

surely they should be owed
at least one last perfect day
where the mind clears,
bones cease to ache,
and they become more alive
and awake

than they have been
for the many slow years
that precede this final glorious day
of sunshine and smiles
and fond farewells.
Surely?

Golden Slumbers, Carry That Weight, The End