Time moves slow when
One can see
What will come at
Half past three.

Beth had known since
She was ten
That it would come
For her again.

Six weeks past her
Tenth birthday
A drowsy feel
Came to stay.

The doctor said,
“Something’s wrong.
She should be well;
Should be strong.”

Then he sent Beth
Out to play
In a room of
Toys and clay.

Beth and other
Children sat
While parents with
Their doctors chat.

Each sweet face
In the dark;
Illness circ’ling
Like a shark.

Beth’s mother came
With damp eyes
And took Beth’s hand;
Had her rise.

With tears in check
Her mom led
To the office
Of Doc Ted.

He was grave and
Very sad
As he told Beth
What she had.

“Cancer.” That is
All he spoke,
And for Beth’s mom
A dam broke.

She cried for Beth
Silent tears.
Did not want to
Show her fears.

Bad enough it
Was, she knew
Without herself
Sobbing too.

Beth was strangely
Calm and cool
Though she’d met with
News so cruel.

At ten it did
Not hit yet
That she could die;
Her fate set.

Doc Ted explained,
“It could leave.
The cancer may
Give Beth reprieve.”

But Beth would need
Therapy.
Chemo was her
Option B.

Option A held
Less appeal:
Take your chances
That you’ll heal.

Beth decided
Option B
Though her Doc said,
“It’s not free…”

Beth’s mom replied,
“Despite cost,
Beth will get well.
We’ve not lost.”

So grueling moths
Followed Beth
And she felt quite
Close to death.

Her gold curls fell
From her head
Clumped on pillows
On her bed.

She felt ill most
Ev’ry day.
Beth left school the
First of May.

After one year
She’d lost hope.
Beth was depressed.
She would mope.

She’d grown a lot
The past year.
She told her mom,
“Do not fear.”
Beth decided:
Option A.
She’d seen no change
In each day.

“My only choice,”
Beth did say,
“is to let chips
Fall where may.”

Her mother prayed.
Her friends cried
But Beth remained
Still dry eyed.

The weeks came and
Passed Beth by.
Her condition
Did not lie.

Beth was fading
Soon they thought
Death would take her;
She was caught.

Days grew longer
And Beth knew
That her time was
Fin’ly through.

She gave the world
Her farewell.
At three two nine
Her last—and first—tear fell.