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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Drama · #723618
We never know when we'll need to say goodbye.
The call came unexpectedly, anticipated
since Jean had fought cancer for so long.
She battled the invader once and won,
sending him running for his life.
With stealth he returned in hiding,
waiting to catch her unaware.
The sides were drawn once more.
The doctors, with their skill,
her faith, her strength on one side;
he, with the Grim Reaper, grinning
with dark delight on the other.
The war waged long and hard.
Jean and the doctors won skirmishes,
one after the other; but each left
her body weaker than before.
Her will, her desire to endure,
faltered not, shining strong
even the last time we talked.
She asked me not to see her
lying weak and wan in a hosptial bed;
she said, each time I asked,
to wait, she would be better soon.
I tarried, my heart sad and knowing,
but for her sake I didn't go.
I prayed for her healing,
but I never went to hold her hand.
I never said goodbye.

~dedicated to Jean Gilliland, July 21, 2003~
© Copyright 2003 Vivian (vzabel at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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