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“The Waiting Room by Stewart Stafford The waiting room lay empty, Gloom-prowled, leather-studded seats, A ceiling fan spun lonely circles above, Keeping no one in particular cool at all. Portrait of a rose in a shadowy alcove, A pair of empty street scenes framed, Mirroring the deserted room where they hung, Creating the vacuum of an infinity void. A wreath of hope on the door, The first patient of the day lumbers in, Where there's one, there'll be others, Smiles from all at the start of the day. © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.” — Stewart Stafford
The Waiting Room by Stewart Stafford
The waiting room lay empty,
Gloom-prowled, leather-studded seats,
A ceiling fan spun lonely circles above,
Keeping no one in particular cool at all.
Portrait of a rose in a shadowy alcove,
A pair of empty street scenes framed,
Mirroring the deserted room where they hung,
Creating the vacuum of an infinity void.
A wreath of hope on the door,
The first patient of the day lumbers in,
Where there's one, there'll be others,
Smiles from all at the start of the day.
© Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.