I feel like weeping. Spent the morning in Intensive Care at the bedside of a little boy, seven, with cancer, gravely ill. Two months ago he was a noise in my ear, playing about in a church aisle with his brother while we and a merry congregation celebrated his parents' 25th wedding anniversary. What a contrast today, seeing him lying there, arms full of tubes, groaning in pain each time his little head moved. Should professionals cry? If not, you can stick your profession. I feel like weeping. If I do, perhaps I will weep in the spirit of Michael Leunig:
Sob and weep
By candlelight
Weep upwards
Into the night
Weep onto a sleeping mouse
Weep naked underneath the house
Weep among the dying trees
Weep down on your hands and knees
Weep with angels when you sleep
Softly gently
Weep weep weep
['The 1989 Melbourne Weeping Festival Programme' from A Bunch of Poesy]
john davies
 yellow on blue CAT.png)
