On a Wednedsay morning,
You'd walk through the gate
To collect the papers-
Rarely were you late.

We'd talk about old movies,
How things were different in the past.
I enjoyed those conversations
(Though briefly they would last).

Lying there in hospital,
You knew that you would die,
Your end would be painful,
Many tears we'd cry.

Yet, you chose not to battle
Against your fate,
Sought no consolation,
No means to compensate

For the hardships you encountered
Throughout your life:
The pain and sorrow,
Tragedy and strife.

All you desired
Was a happy death,
I hope your prayers were answered,
Your maker, you have met

That in the next life,
We too, shall meet again,
Talk about the old times-
Like we did back then!

© David Moynihan 2010