First, you cry.
Cry until you cannot anymore.
Once more the grim prognosis will be read,
But no hope will be found there, I am sure.
No bargain can be made, no moments bought.
The cancer has moved quicker than we thought.
Even now, a bony spectral hand
Points across the Styx to the far shore.
Does sweet salvation wait?
Or do the Fates await to seek their vengeance?
I fear that we will all know before long.
I’ve read the Bill of Attainder :
We all face the same sentence.
Sep 2, 2020
Sep 2, 2020 at 4:54 PM UTC
First, you cry.
Cry until you cannot anymore.
Once more the grim prognosis will be read,
But no hope will be found there, I am sure.
No bargain can be made, no moments bought.
The cancer has moved quicker than we thought.
Even now, a bony spectral hand
Points across the Styx to the far shore.
Does sweet salvation wait?
Or do the Fates await to seek their vengeance?
I fear that we will all know before long.
I’ve read the Bill of Attainder :
We all face the same sentence.
My sister in law is being considered for hospice as her second opertion has failed to stop the dread progression
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