During the two years of my husband's terminal illness, death was never far from my mind. We had been told he was dying and even a time in which it was supposed to happen. We had no idea of how it would happen. I was loathe to let him out of my sight incase he should suddenly die and not return to me and woke each day fearing that he may have died during the night. Towards the end of his illness I sensed that death was near, waiting in the shadows to steal my love from me and wrote the following poem.

Death, it waits in the shadows

But it sneaks ever closer

I can sense it- almost smell it

Tangible- real- waiting

Death