First the Joy   First the joy of running goes Then the running itself. First the joy of walking goes Then the waling. Then the joy of music to just the rhythm to Silence.   Only the joy of being held is left. But no one holds old people. They hold children and lovers And maybe dogs and cats. But only a hug – if you’re lucky As they come and as they go. And there’s no joy in their going. So little joy left. So little time left. Don’t go.   Goodbye.   by Kathleen Campbell, Ph.D. Department of Surgery