LITTLE SISTER

I remember her at the age of six,
her eyes and smile aglow.

She was the light from the sun,
and her passing: dark of night.

Knowing she was going soon,
we grieved while she still lived.

At the age of seven her face
changed, puffy as a "dough-boy" babe.

She fought the lump at the base
of her brain, science could not touch.

Her laughter cut through our weeping,
valiant in the face of tragedy.

My soul it burned - no end in sight,
the day I saw her chest rise no more.