Diary of a chronically exhausted vicar image

I see the cringe as I rise
from my two hours’ sitting –
‘are you OK?’
‘I am in pain’
‘if there was only more
that we could do …’

I hear the cry of boredom,
your ‘waiting for death to come’ –
I want to apologise,
I am not there;
if there was only less
need for me to be sorry.

I feel the water hold me,
bubbles gently soothe,
encourage me to move,
I am so weary;
if there was only more
that I could do.