Born into a world, where she did not belong
Her lungs were not developed, her heart was not strong.
Her body, so fragile, surrounded by glass
She fought bravely, but her little body couldn't last
The child was beautiful, she was named Heather Michelle.
The doctors were hopeful, but only time would tell.
As the surgeons and staff fought desperately for her life
Her mother was in pain and still under the knife.
This angelic child had to endure much more than the rest.
The family, prayed that God's will be done, whatever best.
Illness enveloped her and she became frail
Everyone had hope that their faith would not fail.
As the child lay lifeless in the hospital bed.
So sad, but true, the beautiful child now dead.
She will always be remembered for the struggle that she made.
And on her gravestone, white roses were laid.
Her mother, the addict, lives with regret and remorse
For she still will do anything to get her drugs from the source.
I wrote this poem in 1991. I was a jr. in high school. It fills me with such sorrow, that I had to share.