Skin white as a winter's sky,
Here she lies,
Motionless in her bed.
I weep
Till the day is another
And yet some.
Three years young,
My Angelique taken
By the vermin of Death.

Cancer.
Cancer in her brain.
The one disease
I had never pictured
My little girl getting.
"Two months to live," they said,
"Two months to live."
There was never a night after that
I had had a pleasant dream.

Two months passed.
Little Angelique pressed on.
The doctors say
They got the timing wrong,
But I say a miracle.
Her birthday came and went,
Everyone there to bid her farewell.
And seventeen days later,
She ceased.

Oh, how I wept.
There was never a day in life
I had cried so very much.
And yet,
Here I am,
Wilting over the loss
I had never imagined
Of my little girl.
My little girl Angelique.




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