There are those who sit in chairs with wheels,
Each hour the long day through.
The battles are so different, now,
from those they used to do.

No longer do they run between the chores,
the goals of youth ...
But struggle just for comfort
And to hold on to the truth.

And we forgot the teachers,
the farmers that grew old.
We forgot our future,
forgot the hand to hold,

The little visit;
brightening a dreary, lonely day ...
Say, can we care a little more?
We too, shall pass this way.

Copyright^© Joan Clifton Costner
Submitted by Joyce