Ending another afternoon of Omar Khayyam’s poetry, the young caregiver hugs her 102-year-old patient whom she loves like family.
Georgia, who can no longer speak, struggles to reopen the book. She points to more quatrains. Julie, eyes tearing, turns away. Every day the same plea, same refusal.
Finally, sadly, Julie talks with Georgia’s doctor. She writes a prescription.
That evening, wine, medicine and Georgia’s verses.
“The Moving Finger writes, and having writ…”
Georgia takes Julie’s hand, smiles, and closes her eyes.
“…we too into the Dust descend.”