The trolley

As she walks down the corridor, pushing her trolley

All seems so quiet, no cries, no noises, no lives

Just hear the wheels on the floor, some sort of routine

She stops in front of a door reading the room number.

Is it the correct one or could it be further?

Holding her breath and her bag, in a bedroom she enters.

I don't know you. But I know who you are.

An angel.

The one that comes after. The one we never see.

An angel.

She changes the sheets and wipes the floor,

Let fresh air in, cleaning the sink.

How long did this last?

Was it a he or a she?

How old was the patient?

How many words have been heard?

How many tears have dried?

How many cries have broken silence?

Well, if it is time to raise life back in the room

Then another one is probably waiting.

I don't know you. But I know who you are.

An angel.

The one that comes after. The one we never see.

An angel.

As she walks down the corridor, pushing her trolley

All seems so quiet, no cries, no noises, no lives

Just hear the wheels on the floor, some sort of routine

She stops in front of a lift, time to leave and go home.

Another day's achieved.

Once again or once more.

I don't know you. But I know who you are.

An angel.

The one that comes after. The one we never see.

An angel.