Poem -



A beautiful girl among her peers,
Having not yet accumulated as many years,
Rosalie Child emanated a special light.
Born with grace from a humble start,
The favorite darling in everyone’s heart,
She was seen as the dawn that could break the night.

Her energy limitless and imagination running free,
Possessing vision that allowed for any possibility,
Rosalie radiated hope in a special way.
Casting her meaning and worth upon the littlest thing,
Sharing her strength, which only youth can bring,
She indeed was the sunrise declaring a new day.

But malady, as it does, slips its way in,
Whether by action, sloth or via sin,
Spreading it’s ilk and instigating decay.
Thus the disease will rise, the body will fall,
Crashing down like the blacksmith’s maul,
And the spirit begins its fading away.

Quietly laying sick in her bed,
With a fever burning in her head,
Rosalie battles the internal fray.
Her body corrupted from within,
Steadily collapsing into ruin -
And all goodness seizes to a stay.        

Her parents now fearfully aware,
However, unable to fathom what’s truly there,
Supplicate tomes of ancient remedies.
But all the prayers and elixirs from bygone years,
Offer no cure and only exacerbate their fears,
Of this obscure inexorable disease.

So the learned doctors were called,
Bumbling and quarreling certainly appalled,
Offering treatment of some bombastic display.
Of all they boastfully express,
Produce nothing but impotence,
For her passing, slowly away.

It seems one can only wish her well,
Alas, all prayers sound her knell,
No matter how much longing love.
So all can only wait and see,
And watch her demise hopelessly,
As if it were destined by God above.

As the setting sun beams wane upon her face,
Her eyes go dim with the seceding grace,
Leaving cold of night to supplant her soul exiled.
And all stand in shock and sadness,
Before this implausible, inconceivable madness,
That is, the sorrowful demise of Rosalie Child.

And yet for all her beauty and meaning and worth,
And everything pure upon this Earth,
Her wither comes none the less.
And for all her strength and radiant light,
And all she was that could pierce the night,
She inevitably, fades to darkness.

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Orgel Ware

Thanks Hasty!  I greatly appreciate it!!