Death Of Another Soul Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

They sat around the bed,
as if it were required to be small
in confrontation with the Death
of one more soul, a relative at that.

What were they waiting for, I ask
was it Cheyne-Stokes type breathing,
it is not pleasant to experience this,
the last small sounds are such defiant gurgles,
and no one in the healing arts will be
unmoved and sitting still while Death takes charge.

I often wonder, would I, when the moment comes
prefer the family surrounding me en masse,
would the embarrassment of taking leave,
the loss of functions and the theft of hope
be in the least so out of place that I would cringe
while long-dead eyes are staring into mine?

Would I prefer to have the comfort of a hand
given with love to see me through this final time,
who would it be and could she take such sudden leave,
would eye brows raise and jealous hearts pound now?

Perhaps my God will grant me what my Grandpa got,
'I shall not wake one morning' is what he did hope,
when I was small I always prayed his favourite one
'Tomorrow, if by just the grace of my dear God...'
the public death is just too much for fragile souls.