Tiny handed reacher child
If you die
Despite this machine 
Preventing me from slipping you my index finger to squeeze
I think I will go to Styx
And ask Cerberus
Who probably keeps residence in Siberia
To let me into the underworld
I would strap you to my back and carry you out
I would reach the final gate and look back
Only to be left in a whirlwind of snow
A reminder of how fragile your life was
Ice cracking down my face
Orphean tears for an orphaned parent

(Photo by Houcine Ncib on Unsplash)