The Way It Is Poem by Lone Dog

September of 1921.
Little George, sleeping peacefully in his crib,
Is awakened and fed.
Diapers are checked.
Shoes are tied.
A sweater is slipped on his arms
And partially buttoned.
Now, a buggy appears and
Little George is transported outside
To bask in the autumn sunshine.

September of 2008.
George, now 87 and sleeping peacefully
In a long term care facility,
Is awakened and fed.
Diapers are checked.
Shoes are tied.
A sweater is slipped on his arms
And partially buttoned.
Now, a wheelchair appears and
George is transported outside
To bask in the autumn sunshine.

Helpless when we're born
And helpless when we die.
It's the way it is.