Birthday - the Last









“Bring me a cup of  tea!” - my love did ask,

And turned in bed a little bit aside,

His nose  behind grotesque a plastic mask,-

“Or half a cup will also be alright”.



His handsome face now haggard pale and wan,-

Then he did seem to be remembering  aught,

And pressed the tubes to get more oxygen,

As he for breath so valiantly fought.



“Bring me just half-a cup my dear - I thirst”-

He let his fingers glide along the sheet,

“Dear God!” he moaned “It is September first,

“It is my birthday darling, isn’t it?”



The dread machine that did my love sustain,

With hideous  hissing kept alive my Steve,

But also did prolong my darling’s pain,

Untellable such sorrow and such grief!



Ah! birthdays, birthdays, Lo!- what can I tell,

They do mean naught at all dear friends I swear!.

They  bring along with them pain’s harrowing hell,

For those that love and nurse too great to bear.



Gay anniversaries and stuff like that - renounce!

They are traditional,  but hurt a lot,

Oft agonizingly - renounce and  trounce

Adhered to customs, pray observe them not!.



Who is on birthday celebrations  keen

That with swift passing years long shadows cast?

While feeding to beloved a spouse morphine,

As festive  birthday drink, - his very last.



This is a sad song lo!- I know it well,

But the experience,-  I went through it.

Experience, so very hard to tell,

It feels like purgatory's deepest pit.



© Elizabeth Dandy


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Ruth Lovejoy's picture

profoundly evocative and sad........