Pale. A leaf, dried still in the snow. br I hug you, half a man now. Shook, br lines dug further into your smoky face. br You busy the place with packing and br a useless conversation of visitors, br of your new mobile phone, br a gift from the son that couldn't come br the week you had your operation. br Still hasn't come, he must be very busy. br You'll walk you said, no help with br those million steps out to the truthful sun. br Nurses gather in a flutter, no such thing, br a chair glides under you, scoops you up br for a play-ride into a changed life. br br Always man of men about the town, br cigarette aloft, so elegant, sharp as a pin. br All those sparkling women, br prowlers for the jewel in the pride. br Now we take this ride, knowing, br silent, but for one wheel's tiny squeak, br those days have flown away. br The dark red dissector has spoken how br you will now live a token life, br afraid to laugh too hard, to breathe too deep. br With a nervous heave out of the chair, br you swish your tailored jacket, raise your form br and bravely cough the splutter of the strong.