I walked on the mellow heart of a newborn,
Tiny palms moving frantically in the open air,
I conveyed my frustration and embarrasement of her,
Such a devious mind; had she not cared?
Wasted away in her own little world,
Among rainbows to perfection,
But sticks and stones she's left me with,
A long-lasting, sallow complexion.
She cried me a river,
Out of hatred, not love,
She's ashamed to be a part of life,
From miraculous God, up above.
In her eyes of black,
She continuously trembled with fear,
When cancer took over her,
and hurt me deeply,
I suddenly knew,
the death of her,
Was almost near.