Like Sunrise
My uncle said
it could come at any time,
the knock on the door.
The policeman, the waiting car,
the high-speed journey through pre-war London.
That night there was no time,
no time for the usual procedures.
They took him straight to the hospital bed,
to the pale young stranger,
her face as white as snow.
The needle stabbed his arm,
and the tube was connected
from his vein to hers.
The room held its breath
as the rare blood flowed.
Then he saw a faint pink flush
spread over her skin.
Life flowed from him to her,
life returned,
like sunrise, like springtime.