Refugees and slim slow slider

I sit here, caring for my Mother in her final days, or weeks, sometimes with tears but mostly just accepting.  My dreams are full of the clamour of people desperate to get away from war, struggling to live, just live.  

This poem came:

5^th Sept 2015

Crowding people flee for their lives,

And end up dead on beaches.

Mother waits quietly to die, but

Her wasted body still keeps breathing.

And another:

Slim, slow.

Her bed-time chat is

Who should have

This and that

After she’s gone.

Panting, she slowly

Rubs cream into

Her hands

Before she sleeps.

Slim slow slider

You know you

Gonna die.

But here a while.

We spin slowly, a

Single leaf caught

In an eddy.

Never arriving.