A few words by Shakespeare which speak more truthfully than any piece I could write at the moment…
The flaming sighs that boil within my breast
Sometime break forth; and they can well declare
The heart’s unrest, and how that it doth fare,
The pain thereof, the grief, and all the rest.
The watered eye, from whence the tears do fall,
Do feel some force or else they would be dry…
Some people call this a hospital.
I like to call this a place of my P’s.
A hidden treasure
in a downtown peach orchard
where all my P’s roam.
But don’t panic.
This is the place
where physicians palpate,
pain is palliated,
and papillae are poked.
Patients are pacified,
parking is pitiful,
penlights are peddled,
and parolees panto.
I just call this home.