Loneliness enshrouds me, as I sit all alone.
I’m one of the forgotten, in what’s called a rest home.
There are others around me in this den of gloom.
It’s called a rest home where the living are entomb.
We never receive a card, a pictures, or flowers.
A television plays to while away the hours.
It’s a bedpan, a bath, and pills to make us sleep.
We turn to the wall so no one will see us weep.
Every day’s the same, with no family or friends.
We are the forgotten ones, waiting for the end.
Jesus calls you to visit in their rest home den.
Take a card or flowers, and listen as a friend.
You are the sunshine, for those who are alone.
Pray for the forgotten, confined to a rest home.