She looks unwell.

Bruises under her eyes
purple with no sleep.
I doubt she rests now.

She is getting worse.

You see her eyes moving
beneath their lids.
The panic settles in.

She is dying.

She shouldn't have gone on
that walk in the rain.
It was cold, so cold.

She is cold.

And pale like light
from a waning moon;
a crescent frown.

She is dead.

No breath stirs her chest.
Place your hands beneath
her stiffening body.

Light as a feather
Stiff as a board
Light as a feather
Stiff as a board
Light as a feather
Stiff as a board

Lift on the count of three
So her spirit will be free.