That jet black hair and classic smile
Like the ash of a cigarette that brought the cancer
It says it wouldn’t and maybe even believes it didn’t
These riddles and their responses, the first signs
Like knowing you are ill yet not knowing what it is
Feeling like a hypochondriac
Then, when the immune system is spent
It strikes at its worst, takes it all over
The diagnosis finally revealed
In stage 4 it’s terminal
And you have pneumonia
About to go into a coma
No winning this
That Jet black hair and classic smile
Like cancer it waited it out, mostly silent
While it infected the whole
It finally succeeded in its quest, it usually does
Took out the whole body and the whole family
It usually does
Now time to heal, for those that survive
As best we can

All we have is now. "Passed Perfect" is a perfect present. thanks for the gift. You always know just what to say.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and it is what's inside that counts most. Beautiful poem is this one.

B,

In a quandry, ain't you? LOL Sigh - not one of the beautiful people, guess we're destined to be alone. :( Well done -

(((HUGS))) and love, K.

Have missed you - are you okay?

Oh well, what are you going to do? We can't all be beautiful, but you do bring out many fine facts....

Be always safe,
Karen