Cancer

A pail of silver hope rocked by their small feet,
victim to the tremble of foreshadow;
the hooves of Death's horse echoed defeat
while God shot the largest of Life's arrow.
Even the Brave King could not intervene;
the arrow twisted by Fate struck a stone,
and the child remained in a solemn scene,
as the townsfolk rubbed medicine to bone.
Death's mare set into canter and Time churned;
the child was fading fast beyond Her reach.
Death's greedy sockets relentlessly burned,
searching for this soul like blood craved by leech.
The townsfolk screamed for Time to hurry on,
but Death arrived first and the child was gone.