In a hospital bed on the outskirts of town

Lay an old gray man in a soiled white gown

His hair was all wispy, his eyes were a blank

His breath came in spurts from an oxygen tank

The nurse hovered near, and so did the Reaper

But which had the number to his private beeper?

Shall he lie there forever with a tube up his nose

And his pee-pee and poo-poo slipping out through a hose?

Or shall he be released to float towards the light?

Like a wee, baby doveling or a really good kite

Let him go! Let him go
It’s too late for healing
Put an end to the pain
That we know he is feeling
His life is his burden
His death is his right
Let’s send him off gently
Into that good night

Goodnight