Oozing sores, pain, fear. . . .
Horror of scars, probably blindness,
the possibility of death. . . .
Passionate letters are set aside
half-finished.
By the time this unforeseen ordeal is finally over,
I find it impossible to believe that I ever craved
wealth, praise, or fame, when clearly
all that matters in life
are love
and health,
two treasures worthy
of celebration.