It happened on a Summer’s morning
Hiroshima’s bomb once dropped upon that day
She was feeling tired and started yawning
Her crochet rug was tucked around her knees
Hiroshima’s bomb once dropped upon that day
The yellow capsules easily went down
Her crochet rug was tucked around her knees
She’d sent Arthur on a journey into town
The yellow capsules easily went down
She couldn’t stand another day of pain
She’d sent Arthur on a journey into town
At 82, she hoped they’d judge her sane
She couldn’t stand another day of pain
Two wars survived and still it came to this
At 82, she hoped they’d judge her sane
There was nothing left on earth that she would miss
Two wars survived and still it came to this
There is simply nothing more that can be said
There was nothing left on earth that she would miss
In a little while I hope I will be dead
There is simply nothing more that can be said
She was feeling tired and started yawning
In a little while I hope I will be dead
It happened on a Summer’s morning
This poem tells the true story of my grandmother crippled with osteo-arthritis, who chose to **** herself on August 6th 1982. She had lived through both World Wars. Hiroshima Day was a very important day for her each year. She would have been 83 years old in the November of 1982. Her note simply said,"I can't stand the pain anymore.".
