Maybe, I should have told you,
That I was going to die.
I didn’t think you’d want to know.
I thought it would make you cry.
I lay here on my deathbed,
Wondering what to say.
You didn’t really care though,
Because you loved me anyway.
You weren’t mad that I didn’t speak,
You simply held my hand.
I was really sad for us,
We hadn’t even picked a band.
We were going to be married,
And live a long happy life.
It was so hard for me to believe,
That I was going to be your wife.
If only the disease had picked someone else,
Tell me, why did it pick me?
I wanted life to be perfect for you,
I wanted to make you happy.
I know that I have to go now,
I want to say something to you;
I’m sorry I’m leaving so soon,
But I promise, I’ll always love you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem