The Final Hour Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

The final hour

He was as pale as a corpse floating in an icy Nordic sea.
Motionless in bed he opened up his eyes
don´t know if he knew it was me, but he stared at me for a long time
I became dragged into his death.
He closed his eyes.
No one could do anything for him, except holding his pale hands.
He entered into a coma, and the nurse says it could take some time.
There was no doctor in the room he would appear when the nurse called
him the patient had died, he listened with his stethoscope
nodded and left the room; his profession sees death as a personal failing.
At home, I had to tell my wife her brother was gone.
A relative came to organize the funeral like the size of the casket and
what mode of disposal she wanted, you need a cool head for this
and I couldn´t remember his name