Sitting by his bedside
Consulting with the Fates
Will this be his time to go?
To rattle Pearly Gates?

He seems to be so fragile
And yet the spirit’s there!
Disguised by sagging jowls
And age spots,  hiding in grey hair.

The afterlife has been discussed
He’s scoffed at it and said
What do I care? Burned or buried?
I’ll be dead!

I watch him in his frailty
Yet strong-willed as can be
He clings to life with stubbornness,  
Blessed mortality!

Neither of us ready
To speak of things to come
We focus on the monitors,
The air vents’ harmless hum.

The ordering of breakfast
And peeing in a cup,
The trolley and it’s offerings
Upon which we both sup.

The future is unknown now
So we resign to be
Contented in the moment and
Embrace the mystery.

The choice is not for us to make
whatever we believe
So quiet words of love are whispered
With our hearts on sleeve.

Waiting now is our new game,
Though we, the pawns and Kings
Pronounce that it ain’t over
‘Til that fat lady sings!