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You couldn't know it:
It was your very last.
It tasted just like Amarone should.
And, had you known
would you have had a blast
that night,
to celebrate the end?
And had I known, my dear
I would have cried
the day you died.
You broke your ankle on that afternoon,
by tripping over something,
'twas full moon.
The doctors fixed it with a little plate.
That little plate determined then your fate.
Golden Staph it was,
those buggers liked
your body.
And they swarmed and spiked
through your bloodstream
with a will until
they managed to declare you
'gravely ill'.
Seven days you fought this nasty illness,
but your system couldn't save itself.
Your final visitor was Our Lady Stillness.
And the clock was slowly striking number 12.
I was not there, I did not know,
my dearest cousin
and best friend!
The doctors said you suffered so.
You had no one to hold your hand.
And had I known, I would have come
to sit with you and hold your hand.
The nurses said your brain was numb,
I was away, in distant land.
And Death is cruel in its might,
it takes them left and right.
I would have cried, I would have cried
the day my cousin Rosel died.
Herbert Nehrlich
Read poems about / on: fate, moon, friend, death, night
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Click here to write your comments about this poem (Rosel by Herbert Nehrlich)
Herbert Nehrlich (11/20/2004 6:23:00 AM)
Rosel was a woman who loved life. She was married to my 'drinking cousin' and gradually, over the years, learned to enjoy a glass or two. She died a horrible death, due to the arrogant laziness of a specialist who knew it all, except to recognise golden staph septicaemia. As they say, 'only the good die young'. |
Lenchen Elf (11/20/2004 6:18:00 AM)
Sad, but lovely poem H |
Read all 2 comments >>
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