Staring at the moon,
Lying in a field of black violets,
Her body slowly shutting down,
What was once flaming red hair,
Is now a bare canvas, pale, and white,
Her once strong physique,
Now extremely fragile,
She is a porcelain doll.
She knows she will die tonight,
Yet another victim of an invisible disease,
Every treatment tried and failed,
Every success, a relapse in disguise.
Her heartbeat getting weaker,
She lies her head down on a pillow of grass,
Her bed made of flowers,
Her blanket made of moonlight,
She goes to sleep,
In the shade of a willow tree.