She was dying…
To get out of milk stains
And that wee face.
Dying to grow to her teens.
To wear, maybe shirt and jeans.
Dying to have more friends.
And tour with no ends.
Dying to be a teen,
And thought time was mean.
In her teens she was dying.
Dying to grow older
For the crackling fire had stayed constant
In the absence of glow and friends.
Books and papers surrounded her.
Time flew and duties piled up.
And again, she was dying.
For job, to be called “grown-up’’.
With a job, she was dying
For a family, so loving
For tired she was with life
That she died for some care.