My friend was dying
Of congestive heart failure
But she was still alert
And a volunteer
Came in to paint her nails.
And when I visited her
She went on and on
About her nails,
And how nice the young girl was
Who painted them.
And I never looked
On that last day
If her nails were painted,
Couldn’t really see them
Through my tears,
But if they were painted
I am sure it made her happy.
Connie Webb
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pretty-nails/
