I am dying-- that is only a fact.
I feel though that I never lived-- Life instead attacked.

I will not gaze upon memories of my youth's caprice--
Jealousy turns my eyes away-- but I am not released.
Nor will I remember the work I lived on,
The money long earned was twice as quickly gone.
Ah, and love-- what does that matter
When children are thrown into it, pigs to the slaughter.
Our children are brats, fools of their class
And there never is time for extracurriculars or Mass.
So it seems nothing remains to an old woman as she dies
Than vapid time wasted and Life's pack of lies.

And yet-- and yet I remember, a young girl always wrong
A teenager whose notes always cracked in song
A woman, respectable, middle-aged and well-thought
And old Lady, whose descendents listened as they ought.
All of the flaws, all the hates reconciled,
All the time and effort to make one person worthwhile.

Perhaps if one woman can use her counted breaths
As she finally allows herself to float towards Death
To say, "I forged myself today from what little I was as a child,"
Then-- then she and Death can meet each other with a smile.

For though I have kissed the lips of Love and Death and liked them both the same,
As I lay back and fold my hands-- only Death's remains.