At Sheridan Manor

Here you lie

after suffering two strokes,

unable to walk.

For six years, I cared for you.

We were happy.


Now, after giving up on life,

you’re breathing your last.

Here I sit, holding your hand,

talking to you,

singing your favorite songs,

wishing you’d respond,

tell me you love me,

squeeze my hand.

I shouldn’t be here. To hear me read this poem, click the link below. From That’s Life: New and Selected Poems Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author Order That’s Life from Finishing Line Press. Order That’s Life from Amazon. Vote for my new book idea.

2 thoughts on “At Sheridan Manor

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