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U3A Writing: Small Daily Miracle

On a grey day, the queue is waiting, waiting… Vera Sanderson tells of a queue one would not wish to join.

And all the world was grey,
Grey as a dismal, dark December day,
Grey as the fog of winter is to spring,
Grey-grizzled, grimy, grainy, grim
Slate-grey skies, graphite clouds,
Grey-green faces, tidal-grey crowds
Concrete grey buildings, deep grey stairs
Dark grey corridors, pale grey chairs
Grey shadows
Sitting silently in rows
Waiting

And all around me
Feet shifting, shuffling endlessly
And waiting
For consultation, examination, medication
Just waiting
The lists are full
A never-ending queue
As we, the chosen few,
Wait for surgery.

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