Anne was just eight years old,
The day that she got the news,
She listened as he gently told,
The reasons for all the clues.
Her hair was slowly falling out,
Fatigue; she was so weak,
But still, she had so much doubt,
And she was unable to speak.
She had to go on and live her life,
As she would with any other fate,
But the pain stabbed her like a knife,
And she was ready to face that gate.
Every week, she went under the light,
As Doctors looked down on her,
She held it together, with a smile bright,
Watching her life spin around this detour.
She had came to her last stop sign,
When he walked into clear sight,
Helping her up, he mended her spine,
And taught her to stand, to fight.
It`s been twenty short years now,
And he is still by her side,
He fights his tears, wipes his brow,
As he says goodbye to his bride.
Her soft blue eyes fall softly shut,
And he stays, holding her hand,
Ignoring the pain lingering in his gut,
Swearing that forever by her, he will stand.
She climbed to the highest peak,
Looked until he helped her find,
She was more than ill, more than weak,
`Cuz love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.
