Villanelle

Death may come soon or late for all I care;
Death of itself is not so much to dread.
But to be speechless — that I couldn't bear.

I've had my stint of years — more than my share.
I'm getting to the end–page. Take it as read
Death may come soon or late for all I care.

I'd settle to be toothless, minus hair,
Even so helpless as to be spoon–fed
But to be speechless — that I couldn't bear.

By final heart attack, a fatal stair,
Road accident, or quietly in my bed
Death may come soon or late for all I care.

But at the doctor's mercy, lying there
With all I want to say ripe in my head
And to be speechless — that I couldn't bear.

There are so many thoughts I need to share.
There are so many words I've never said.
Death may come soon or late, for all I care,
But to be speechless — that I couldn't bear.