I do not want to die on a Monday with rain raging down on my pain
my mind drifting back through a lather of dreams and fear grabbing hold of my name.
I do not want to die on a Tuesday it's the least of my favourite days
like the start of New Year there's little to cheer unless I change my ways.
I do not want to die on a Wednesday in sight of the weekend fair
too much to remember and much more to do - would be easier to finish off there.
I do not want to die on a Thursday for it's my favourite day of the week
the cheque in the door the wine on the floor - do not want to go anymore.
I do not want to die on a Friday because my father did
fallen, alone, by a railway line just as I started to live.
I do not want to die on a Saturday with people rushing around
voices that laugh in the sun in the park and footballers pounding the ground.
I think I'll go on a Sunday when my summers have no more to give and children play by the Great Lucan weir unaware that I ever had lived.
We all labour against our own cure, for death is the cure of all diseases. by SIR THOMAS BROWNE such a brilliant write sir...even though we want to end things but deep down we still don't want to let it go.... absolutely phenomenal....thank you for sharing it best wishes, payal
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very moving write. Very good.