I've done everything on the list
and ticked them off, one by one.
Washing, ironing, cooking.
Writing, researching, reading. Done.
I've even exercised for an hour,
had a bath for a while with poetry,
made dinner for Dad who popped by,
but nowhere on the list was you.
You've been in bed all day,
I've been your nurse.
You ate two rich tea's
but no hope, still sick.
I've done everything on my list,
yet you still lie there, asleep,
unable to be helped, I watch you
weaken into something I can't fix.