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Hi I'm back after what so far seems to be successful surgery. My thanks for your prayers and good wishes. Whilst not specifically a PD poem, the following was begun whilst looking from my room on the morning of surgery. Sorry folks - mostly it doesn't rhyme Dennis Fifth floor - 5 AM It's 5 AM, and night holds day at bay, gathering darkness in a close embrace which fills the hollow places of this room with old emotions, fears, and shadowed thoughts; half seen half felt forerunners of the day. (Life lifts its head, says something, is ignored; I gaze out of the window, self - absorbed) Beyond the glass low clouds reflect the glow of orange streets, banked hellfire in the sky, and silent roads pulse with the predawn silver flow of headlights , and the orange red, red orange blink of taillights, caught, caution stop go / caution stop go, in obsessive / compulsive loops of imposed behaviour. How much this view has changed since yesterday; then sunlight - spilling free across the plain - insisted that it must touch everything; and clouds were simply clouds, the roads were grey, and all this glowing flow of traffic was just one more half seen detail among a million on display. I have the thought that light is never free we pay for light with truth, and when we see it all - and nothing , we will be free - to chose between obsessions and the dawn.