How Thin The Wall That Seperates Us Poem by Dean Johns

As I sit at my desk I hear you next door, it is a sound that you do not hear as slumber has you wrapped firmly in its shawl.

The sound I hear does not comfort me, at 01: 42am a distraction is never a comfort.

Your life is twice mine in years and your body has begun its decay; as well you know from the aching bones, tired eyes and failed hearing.

Tomorrow when we meet I shall tell you what I heard but you my dear neighbour may not hear me for the sound I now hear is fading as the battery in your hearing aid is silently draining away.