In the cold weather,
In a cold hospital,
In a cold room,
In a cold bed,
The dying warmth of a young one,
Plagues the thoughts of her mother.
In her little arm,
A needle that pushes,
Life,
Into the dying body,
Struggles to do its job.
Beep, beep.
The monitor screeches,
Loud enough to deepen
The sorrows and the worries.
The little girl,
Once so lovely,
Now so pale and fleeting,
The clutches of the world lose their grasp on her.
The girl’s mother looks at her fading livelihood,
Dying countenance,
The fading fire in her wistful eyes,
As she looks outside,
At the rain and clouds.
She frowns at the droplets,
That fall from the sky,
So fast and out of sight,
They crash on the ground,
And end their lifespans.
The mother, regarding
The dying girl’s face, says,
Don’t look out there, sweetie,
It’ll make you sad.
The little girl frowns,
Because she knows she’s already been drained
Of all of her vigor and intensity.
Languidly she looks at her mother,
Opens her mouth and says,
Will it be sunny tomorrow, mommy?
The woman simply frowns
As tears rush down her face.
Wiping them off, her voice cracks.
She struggles to smile and says,
Yes, it’ll be sunny tomorrow, honey,
And you’ll get to see it.
With a struggling face,
The girl smiles.
How can you know, mommy?
Because mommy knows best, sweetie.
The next day, after a rainy night,
The sun peeks out of the darkened clouds,
And shines on the girl’s lifeless body.