The elements of illness pour unfiltered:
Slowly washing away the vibrant hue.
The cheerful array of joyful colors
That seemed to emanate round about you.
How we wish we could hold the hands of time;
Keep the close of growing season at bay.
Frolic in long lazy days of summer,
Basking in your light and love every day.
Life has its seasons: a worldly decree.
Your season is cut too short it would seem.
Pruned by the harsh shears of retched disease.
Even in sunset your faded hues gleam.
The brittle leaf is taken by the breeze:
Sent silently swirling above the trees.