Grandma’s Last Smile

Seventy eight is not old for my grandma
In her childish hopes and early prayers
Senile sinews burdens spirited tomorrow,
Even as she sleeps in breathless quietness
Ushering death in painless peace awash in glee
Long before dawn she ebbs to the nether shore;
Her frail palms in comforting embrace over
Her bosom that never shall rhyme,
The lively moments of youthful dance!
O’ how rarely death comes in peace!
How rarely sufferance gifts beautiful smile?
How is my final decree chartered seconds away
On the inevitable course I long to measure;
That one breath must leave stealthily in calm;
Sans the sting and stench of deathly battle;
When my compact here is done
I shall await in prayer my gentle friend,
That you shall lead me dancing down the last trail.