He taught me something
poor little Billy
nine, my age too.
Gently letting go
he turned nice
smile kind words
no complaints and
his hair dropped out.
I woke in the night
to see him wrapped
like a mummy one
nurse crying one angry.
I learned that death
wasn't good for me
and that anyway it's
the easy way out.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem