You were the quickest born:
in less than three hours,
as if you couldn't wait to see
what life was all about,  
and at home with just
two midwives present,
and I watching, waiting
to see you born.

Then that time the quack
decided rather late,
that the lump on your neck
was cancerous,
and needed to be removed
before too late.

We thought it might be
a downward slide,
but the lump
was non malignant,
and we breathed
a breath of relief
and not wounded by grief.

Looking back, you were
the tempestuous one,
the firey girl with go
(whom we nicknamed McEnroe),
who left home first
to venture out,
to walk the tightrope of life
and taste its wares,
and take its ups
and downs and cares.