He came to my house to see how I was feeling.
I was feeling pretty rotten. I was still reeling
from the catastrophe that had happened to my brain.
I was feeling very mortal
and terrified that things would never be the same.
All I wanted to do was sit at home in the snug and let the TV be content.
He then came round every week and take me out,
which I have to say I greeted with resentment.
But as time went by,
he re-introduced me to life,
and now I do what I do to the best of my ability.
I love swimming, because it takes all the weight off my body
and I’m no artist,
but painting brings with each stroke an easy tranquillity.
I’m not working now,
but it’s not game over
and if Death decides to come for me,
it won’t find me a pushover.
And I think I’d have become a vegetable in my chair
if Paul hadn’t brought me here and taken me there,
so if you ever see him, please buy him a beer.
Tell him it’s from Glyn; and that I’m still here.