Slowly wasting away
Returning to his chair everyday
Cancer eating away inside
Death soon to be his bride
Telling tales of days long gone
As the clock ticks ominously along
On a face so gaunt and thin
Sometimes a playful grin
Cuddled in morphine's embrace
A distant look upon his face
Periods of lucidity return
From this old man so much to learn
Together daily we sit
Filled with inevitability, no need to fret
Awaiting that final breathe
A goodbye, all that's left
Till then we make quite a pair
As he sits there in his chair
This frail old man and me
A different world through his eyes I see
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Couldn't do it. I would be off and away. Others of greater sentiment can handle it.