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July 19, 2020


We'll call him John

Since we don't know the name he'd be given

John lies aside


Perfect, almost

His mother no longer carries him

His father does not hold him

The doctor and nurses turned away

Called to other concerns

Their next patient

Their next challenge

Their next death

For John, you see, is dead

He lies ignored and unrated

On a cold metal table

Or a cold plastic bin



That John bears the image of God

Disregarded by all in that cold, empty room

Disregarded by all, but God

Who at this moment welcomes John home

Though prematurely

As He would welcome John's parents

Should they ever come



A poem by Peter Rhebergen
Copyright 2022
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