My train of years, moving slowly down its line
Through gentle stations, planning out the time,
Collides against a covert obstacle,
Abruptly overturns and hurls me down,
Howling out my hurts to passers-by
Who come to cut me, cut me from the wreck.
No rescuer could reach where I am thrown:
Disjuncted, injured, down a lonely line.

Short though it is, to me Crash is one of the saddest of Sandra's poems. It invokes a picture of someone just getting on with life, thinking and dreaming about the future with everything going smoothly and predictably; suddenly, without warning, all of that comes to an end, to be replaced by chaos and fear.

A very good mirror of how Sandra felt; come to that, so did I. I suspect a lot of patients and carers could identify with this.