The sickly pale girl

With bouncy, dark curls,

Adored in cloudy pearls

Watches snow fall from bed.

Her coughs stifle the air,

Making everyone aware

Of her “impending despair”,

Or that’s what the doctor said.

A young life poisoned with pain,

Yet the doctor can’t explain

The cause of such to obtain.

It’s all confusing to the head.

The mother walks in with smiles

At her fragile daughter’s trials.

In her honey tea, the mother piles

A drop of poison, blood red.