What I Hear In The Night (Poem)

I move close enough to share her breath,

Gently stroke her face, and listen.

Her sleep restless, she stirs in pain,

Her breathing labored, ragged,

A harsher sound than before.

Now it’s joined by a thin rhythmic whistle,

That I dread yet keenly hope to hear:

Though it be the herald of death’s eventual arrive,

As long as it remains, thus does she.