I will write to you on another side of death that is waiting for many
Laying in a box with eyes covered by pennies
For to pay the ferryman as she transverses’ the Styx
She lies now prostrate' our benevolent testatrix
Charon bends his blades with sweat on his brow
No more tomorrows, gone is her now.
Only her past, to dissolve assuredly through time
Only bones now remain... Poor mother of mine.