There is no rhyme for this, the grubby business of dying
cannot be romanticised on this occasion, while we are watching it.
Running to the pharmacy for stronger drugs to stop you weeping
while we watch in horror as the pain tears through you
and yet, selfish as we are, we prolong your suffering,
fighting against you for every minute and calling it the love
that means we cannot bear to lose you. So we continue
this terrible torture, beyond the bounds of common cruelty.