She rested still, her rattling breath <br />a sentry for impending death, <br />awakens those who share her room <br />still fearful of their private doom. <br /> <br />The nurse had ventured out and in <br />her cheeks in a sardonic grin. <br /> <br />'You all must die some day, you hear? <br />But do not fret and do not fear, <br />as long as I preside and rule <br />you may just lay your bits of stool <br />inside the pan (but do not spill) , <br />and read your bible if you will, <br />the rattle you experience <br />means in a real, mortal sense <br />that Mrs. B. your mate and neighbour <br />is in the tunnel, not in labour, <br />Cheyne Stokes I call it, it derives <br />from final twitches, bronchial hives, <br />the body shuts its systems down, <br />the heart is saddened, wears a frown. <br />Both kidneys stop the flow of pee <br />oh, have a look now, as you see <br />saliva dribbles down her chin <br />now SHE wears the sardonic grin, <br />I urge you though, please do not speak, <br />the dying can, though very weak, <br />hear all the words and phrases said <br />until you're well and truly dead.'<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cheyne-stokes-for-ordinary-folks/
