The yellow lit corridors smelled of old death
Not new death
Old death
There's a difference
Scraggly voices of crow-like old women pierced through the silence
Nurses attended to them like busy wind-up toys with painted on smiles
"Hark the herald angels sing..."
I faded out of our joyous carol
And stopped a second
Turning to the left
She looked me with her watery blue eyes
The hunched over shriveled lady in the hospital room
And murmured:
God Bless You
The heat rose into my cheeks
And she became blurry
But through the tears
I think I saw her crack a smile
At me
She smiled in the place where Old Death lurks at every door
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