Long Lost Friend

She walked in Slowly, gingerly, stately. Assisted, she sat into the treatment chair. It engulfed her, Her tiny frame so frail, Wafer thin. With kind words and smiles, She greeted staff and all of us. She was silently mouthing something. Looking at her hands in her lap, there it was - The rosary. Her fingers peacefully occupied, The decades passing under them, One silently whispered Hail Mary at a time, Calmly. The rosary - It fits here, Not out of place. And I wonder if her pulse rate slowed As she prayed each bead, Her fingers walking the walk, Counting off the decades. It seemed to soothe her, calm her, Distract her, Or connect her to another level altogether. --- My first sight of a rosary in ages, Like seeing a long lost friend, A silent chaplain that rightly belongs here. And in her hands It is a prayer in itself.