On the ward, Sylvia calls
Again and again and again and again:
"Help me, please. Help. Someone!" 
But nobody 
Nobody
Nobody comes. 

The carers know 
They've been before 
They just can't help her any more. 
They've been before, 
They'll come again, 
Answer her questions, ease her pain. 
For now, they're busy, with others
Elsewhere 
Too busy, too tired, too few to care. 
For now, she lies
Lost
Alone. 
She misses her family, misses her home. 
And some days, when she's really bad, 
She misses her Mum, misses her Dad. 
She cries, for pity. 

When will they come?
Why did they leave her? 
Where is her mum? 

And, then, she gets a visitor. 

You wouldn't know that this was her! 
The smile that lights her whole sweet face;
It fills the place! 

And, if you sit and hold her hand
Just for then, she'll understand
That she is safe
And you will see
A tiny hint of young Sylvie
Who fell in love, built a home, 
Worked so hard, children grown, 
Who loved her garden, helped her neighbours, 
Buried a husband, shouldered his labours, 
Who'd seen such changes, coped with more, 
Danced in slippers, outrun war. 

And should she whisper, "I love you." 
And you reply, "I love you too." 
(And in that moment, truly do.)
Your heart will grow & heal & break
And it will make your day, 
your year
(and that is why I volunteer) 

And that is why every MP
Should spend a day
Here
With Sylvie
And then commit that there will be
Compassion, kindness, dignity:
For everyone who needs our care
Always to have someone there.