When the Lark Stopped Singing

The afternoon sunlight is waning, casting a soft glow inside her small bedroom. I sit beside her bed, a witness to her slow suffering. Ravaged by illness, she is restless and uncomfortable. I try to offer an encouraging word as I hold her frail hand. We used to sing together. Music was her world. She lets me softly sing a favorite childhood song. I hate that the dreaded cancer is slowly taking her away… small lark fades on perch where songs were sung so freely now hushed in silence I gently wipe her brow and stroke her hair. She looks so small between the sheets. She is listless and has no appetite. She knows it won’t be long. I remember our many happy times together growing up. Now, I pray over her, asking for God’s mercy. Tears trickle down my cheeks. Soon, my little sister will be with her Savior… wounded lark struggles quiet pleas are heard above never more to sing