For some weeks now I was planning.
There was no time to lose,
and when I sliced that liver
I was thinking of you.
I walked across the unkempt lawn
(in the Spring I'll ask my neighbor to wield
the lawn mower), sighed, and pulled up my shoulders
against the cold. The dog bounded down the stairs
and we bonded in the weak frosty light
of yet another English winter morning.
This morning the doctor tells me you need
open-heart surgery. You tell me how
fortunate you are to have me near.
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