I'm afraid of needles. <br />I'm tired of rubber sheets and tubes. <br />I'm tired of faces that I don't know <br />and now I think that death is starting. <br />Death starts like a dream, <br />full of objects and my sister's laughter. <br />We are young and we are walking <br />and picking wild blueberries. <br />all the way to Damariscotta. <br />Oh Susan, she cried. <br />you've stained your new waist. <br />Sweet taste - <br />my mouth so full <br />and the sweet blue running out <br />all the way to Damariscotta. <br />What are you doing? Leave me alone! <br />Can't you see I'm dreaming? <br />In a dream you are never eighty.<br /><br />Anne Sexton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/old-18/
