Between us is the cancer,
Neither enemy or friend,
Impersonal, an object for discussion.
I sit, talk and wonder.
He talks of past, present and future;
Planning for the time when IT has gone:
Days out, holidays and rounds of golf.
I sit, think and wonder.
Stoic, matter of fact,
Quietly brave, I hear of nights of pain
But no self-pity. He smiles.
I sit question and wonder -
Could I be like this?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Like the friend with cancer, this poem isn't maudlin, but rather stoic and accepting. Enjoyed this read quite a bit. Peace, L&T