They settled his head on two pillows
one extra behind his back, supporting
a weak smile, comforting a strong fear.
Ill follows death; his fall-down, failure
to rise to old heights, unplanned for
such young days.

Sweet and ever considerate on his bed,
as snow in the sun when nurses, smoking
doctors laughed aside. While my alarm
clock tells his time, a heartbreaking bye
to his mum. Two o'clock too early, yet
15:45 just right.

His punctual big heart.
His way to stay in the end.