This poem shows a fear of mine, to one so young and pure,

My youngest niece, Patricia; must struggle all night long,

She has what's called Sleep Apnea, a hard thing to endure,

For one who's only three years old, I hope she's very strong,

Her tonsils are the size of a small fruit, and I hope doctors heal what's wrong.

How long she has to live that is; no one can assure.

I write these words in hope that they will bring some kind of peace,

Though one so small and fragile can bring me to my knees,

We want the doctors to help her soon, so that her pain will cease,

Even then we only wait, though try to rest at ease,

Sleep itself, is hard for us; who have these deep pities,

Striving on is what I do; to be strong for my niece.

It's hard to write, my eyes are blurred; and tears stream my cheeks,

This girl so young and innocent must fight to do her best,

A voice so weak, that she hardly speaks,

An ultimate struggle, through her hardest test,

Strong is the heart, which beats inside her chest,

The life she tries to lead, slowly piques.

I write this in high hopes but can hardly maintain happy thoughts because

these words are hard to write; I'm scared for my niece and don't want to

see her dead.

Tracer Stevens 6.7.05