From his first day to his last 
he knew far too much of death, 
from his father’s failing heart 
to two wives’ final breaths. 
All the life that he saw 
lost in that Axis camp in Italy 
and through his old age watching friends 
congregating in the cemetery. 

I remember watching as he lay dying, 
all shrivelled and small and grey. 
Fearful of the death I saw in him 
even though he wasn’t afraid. 
Because it made me think about the future, 
about how we try to forget that 
an endpoint [bad word] towards us all 
even though we think we’ll never be next. 

But it’s not being dead or [bad word] next 
that fills me so with fear 
(for knowing what awaits me is 
the one [bad word] that I hold dear). 

Oh God, if you take my wife 
then please take my life, 
don’t leave me here alone. 
But please don’t let us die too young, 
don’t let us die too old.