She was born just like all the rest,
When nothing seemed to be a threat,
But as she grew, day by day,
Her normality began to fray.

And soon her mother would be told,
That her life would be taken into the threshold,
Of a disorder that robs everything,
From a future that could have been riveting.

As she grew older, she lost all abilities,
But an angel is what they all see,
During life her opportunities became slim,
And then she lost control of every limb.

She never got to ride a bike,
Or learn to drive a car,
She never got to take a hike,
Or go out to a bar.

She never got to go to prom,
Or even paint her nails,
She never learned the words of Psalms,
Or told her most fascinating tales.

She never went on a date,
Or walked down the isle,
She never got to meet her soul mate,
Or even run a mile.

She never got to put makeup on her face,
Or order her own meal,
She never tied her own shoelace,
Or show how she did feel.

Her life was mangled by something cruel,
That acted like a menacing tool,
But she could always stay so calm,
Even when she was being brutally attacked by Rett Syndrome.

By: Aisling Spellman