They do not hold out hope of a cure,
Just a short extended time.
A decent quality of life- however that's defined.
There will be bouts of nausea,
They promise joints will tame.
My husband promised me a wig
in just my favorite shade.
Just time enough to say goodbye
ere the reaper claims the stage.
I know the limit of my days
are numbered in my bones.
Until I'm in a crowded room
resting silent and alone.