She rested still, her rattling breath
a sentry for impending death,
awakens those who share her room
still fearful of their private doom.
The nurse had ventured out and in
her cheeks in a sardonic grin.
'You all must die some day, you hear?
But do not fret and do not fear,
as long as I preside and rule
you may just lay your bits of stool
inside the pan (but do not spill) ,
and read your bible if you will,
the rattle you experience
means in a real, mortal sense
that Mrs. B. your mate and neighbour
is in the tunnel, not in labour,
Cheyne Stokes I call it, it derives
from final twitches, bronchial hives,
the body shuts its systems down,
the heart is saddened, wears a frown.
Both kidneys stop the flow of pee
oh, have a look now, as you see
saliva dribbles down her chin
now SHE wears the sardonic grin,
I urge you though, please do not speak,
the dying can, though very weak,
hear all the words and phrases said
until you're well and truly dead.'
Herbert Nehrlich
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cheyne-stokes-for-ordinary-folks/
