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A hand
shriveled and sad
crowned with knobby joints
tenderly touches a small one
soft and warm
and new to the world.
"I am dying" says the hand.
It gets no reply
just a small squeeze on a frail finger.

A tear
slowly flows down a wrinkled face.
drips onto the face of another
a small face
plump with youth.
"I am dying." says the tear.
But the child doesn't respond.
Just a grab at frail bedcovers.

Pleading eyes
filled with their last light
fall to a new soul
a new life
a new chance.
The eyes plead
"I am dying." says the gaze.
But this gaze is caught.
Captured.
Captive in a memory.
A memory.
It is remembered.
The eyes smile now.
The tear dries.
the hand draws back.
the wrinkled face smiles.
Thank you it faintly mouths.
and then,
remembered,
the hand falls limp.
the eyes fade.
And a soul leaves the earth.