Almost to the minute,
My hand rested on a dying body,
With no life-will in it,
She was peppered with growths from head to toe,
Up against pain killers,
No doctor'd e'en pretend there was a cure,
And no one had to bother to tell her,
It was already days she'd stopped talking,
Her thoughts were a closed book,
Ironic, she e'er wanted to write one,
Now no one got to look.
Then she just died,
Mine was one of three hands,
No need to explain why she moved inward,
To experience death, you've just one chance.