She was doomed to die too early, and was clearly on that track
but the reaper wasn’t ready when my mother tapped his back
She’d said “Charon, you’re a little late, I’m ready for my trip”
He’d said “Dear, you’ll need to get in line, there’s no room in my ship”
She was years at death’s apartment door, just knockin’ every day
while her movements stilled a hundred fold, her pallor turned to gray
and each day that she crept onward, we her children grit our teeth
for the dawns were filled with questions; buy her flowers? or a wreath.
It was bless-ed sure, the days we had, each one a special gift
yet her weariness consumed us all, our lives were set adrift
I can only hope when my turn comes, it takes a single breath
for I’d save my dears the witness of a long and painful death.