It seems the time has come for him to die
He lies there in his bed, his eyes are closed
And all the time I hear his painful sigh;
I try but it is hard to be composed.
His body writhes responding to the pain
And sweaty beads adorn his greyish skin;
They mark his pillow with a moisture stain.
I look at him, he is so old and thin;
He's old beyond his years, disease does this;
This dread disease destroys his life, his hope;
Destroying bonds of friendship which I'll miss,
And I am left to wonder how I'll cope.
But I'll remember that you were my friend
and reminisce about you till the end.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem