In my friend, Edward Lemond’s recent book of poems, “Circadiana”[i] is one about a friend’s end of life. He titled this poem




“Suddenly she lifted her head

And looked around the room.

It was as if she had seen a ghost.


She tried to say something

But couldn’t. I leaned close

And whispered in her ear.


No, she shook her head,

No,no. I could see the fear

In her eyes.She gagged,


And spit blood. A terrible

Cough shook her, like a rag,

Until she fell back and lay still.


How obscene, I thought, to be

Made to suffer, against her will,

And to have no way to put an end


To it. To be without recourse,

Even to your dearest friend.

Much better the tomb.”


Thanks Ed for sharing this and many more honest and profound poems.


Striving for aequanimitas,


John Mary Meagher


[i] “Circadiana”







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