dreamt I was dying...
I was condemned to death.
The vicar who was in charge of proceedings stood over me.
My hands were palm to palm in front of me in prayer.
I could see my little much loved dog Lettice curled up asleep. Touching her a friend said
‘She’s dead!’
I knew.
I slowly leant sideways, knowing
I wasn’t ready to die.
You, choose the time?
If you are ready, not before.
Is this what dying is like
I idly wonder?
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