I have spoken to them as they showed their grief
When they were told the terrible news it’s no relief
You knock on the door in quiet apprehension
In the air you can feel the building tension
They answer the door and you see it in their face
So they open the door and invite you into their place
How do you say that someone’s dead
It’s something that you would always dread
So get it done as gently as you can
Delaying the news to them I’m no fan
As the ones who are left behind
It’s always hard to find a word that’s kind.
© Paul Warren Poetry
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem