Ann Goodman Poet Lyric

To a Sick Child

Your face was pale, your voice was still.
Toys discarded, for you were ill.
On your pillow, your little head,
It's not like you to lie in bed.
A day, a night, never seemed so long, 
What we would give to make you strong.
With love we tend you through the night.

At last the dawn, morning light
,What do we see?
 Cheeks tinged with pink,
A stronger voice asks for a drink.
Where's my doll, my book, my Ted?
Mummy when can I get out of bed?
Our sighs of relief, we won the fight.
Oh, little one, you gave us such a fright!!!

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