“Bring me a cup of tea!” - my love did ask,
And turned in bed a little bit aside,
His nose behind grotesque a plastic mask,-
“Or half a cup will also be alright”.

His handsome face now haggard pale and wan,-
Then he did seem to be remembering aught,
And pressed the tubes to get more oxygen,
As he for breath so valiantly fought.

“Bring me just half-a cup my dear - I thirst”-
He let his fingers glide along the sheet,
“Dear God!” he moaned “It is September first"-
“It is my birthday darling, isn’t it?”



The dread machine that did my love sustain,
With hideous hissing kept alive my Steve,
But also did prolong my darling’s pain,
Untellable such sorrow and such grief!

Ah! birthdays, birthdays, Lo!- what can I tell,
They do mean naught at all dear friends I swear,
They bring along with them pain’s harrowing hell,
For those that love and nurse too great to bear.

Gay anniversaries and stuff like that - renounce!
They are traditional, but hurt a lot,
Oft agonizingly - renounce and trounce
Adhered to customs, pray observe them not!.

Who is on birthday celebrations keen
That with swift passing years long shadows cast,
While feeding to beloved a spouse morphine,
As festive birthday drink, - his very last.

This is a sad song lo!- I know it well,
But the experience,- I went through it.
Experience, so very hard to tell,
It feels like purgatory's deepest pit.

© Elizabeth Dandy