We sat, quietly reflecting
Some sobbing softly, some waiting
“It’s time” a low voice announced
Faces of lost hope, trembling hands
“Its time” a little more pronounced
Loving hands helping each to stand

We stood around him lost in dread
Sterile white monitors beeping
Each lost, contemplating this death
Hand-in-hand, watching and weeping
Eyes dimming, tired, their light fades
A gasp, hands clinched, I looked away

Sorrow that overflows the soul
Holding on, then letting go
Can we ever truly understand
The passing of beloved friends?
Is the loss a test of faith
As for our turn we wait?

I wish I knew.


© Michael R Wood 2002