Standing at the foot of your bed.
I watch the monitors just above your head.
The sounds and lights begin to race.
I know that they do not run at a regular pace.
The doctors rush in, fighting for adequate space.
I look into their eyes, searching for hope but find not a trace.
I stand at the foot of your bed, knowing that you are dead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem