She stood at the end of the noisy street
and the motorcars rumbled on by
she was here for one purpose and that was to meet
the old man who would help her to die.
It was legal at last and the government had
in its wisdom declared that each city
could accomodate those who would follow this fad
and who'd die among strangers and pity.
And the country was neutral as it always had been
individuals did keep their rights,
every man was his master and in charge of each sin
but no foreigner died during nights.
They were taking in silence to a room in the rear
of a boarding house painted pitch black,
the injection came fast, there was time for no tear
once committed they never came back.
In the alley was waiting a fresh-polished hearse
and the driver was dressed in Tuxedo,
at the signal he read her a catholic verse
all in English, she'd come from Toledo.
For an extra few francs one got buried near town
with a view of the snow covered mountains
and each body was dressed in a Loetschenthal gown
there to rest among flowers and fountains.
It is strange how we all, when the hour is near
are convinced of a life after death
it erases the worries and dampens the fear
and it eases the very last breath.
Herbert Nehrlich
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/euthanasia-in-switzerland/
