Waiting For Christine

The aged couple waited, wringing hands
and staring, seldom blinking, down the hall.
Their daughter’s life was making grave demands
upon the skills of surgeons, experts all.

Her husband sat across the room, asleep,
exhausted from the worry, grief, and tears.
He’d learned about the accident while deep
in thought, preparing plans for future years.

A clock’s staccato second hand performed
percussive ticks that stole the silence stale.
The hour hand was slothful, yet conformed
to time’s relentless passage without fail.

At last a doctor entered, doffing mask,
and walked to where the young man sat alone.
He touched his shoulder gently with the task
of waking him, and spoke with tranquil tone.

“Your wife is resting now and doing well.
She fought with Death and won her life anew.
I wanted to assure you and to quell
your doubts and fears. She’ll soon be home with you.”

Her parents moaned. Fresh tears their faces bore.
They’d have to wait still longer for the right
to have Christine beside them evermore.
Forlorn, they drifted up into the night.