La Muerte de la Vieja

There were four old women as old as she Who knelt in the room where the sick one lay, And the resador with his book of prayers Who sat by her side all night to pray.

In the morning light her face was grey As the ash that covered the embers still, The black-shawled women had never stirred And the old man's voice was hoarse and shrill.

The crucifix laid on her heaving breast Moved with her harsh breath up and down, And her mouth like a chicken's gaped for air With a noise that the droning could not drown.

The sunlight poured through the open door Where I stood and wondered how it could be That the old, old woman with such great strength Fought with the force we could not see.

As she had fought long years ago Through child-bed pain, now her body thin Strove to the last with the mid-wife Death, Till silence ushered her new life in.