Your Poetry Dot Com - She'll Die Next Tuesday.

The doctor spoke words
She wished she could not understand;
A part of her disbelieving
As if she's reading a story,
but she grasps it's for real
She will be dead next Tuesday.

A young lady, she was
Signs of ailment absent
A social butterfly,
on the verge of career
But she will be dead next Tuesday.
Aimlessly walking
In the dark, hollow streets
She thought of things in her head
The things she's never done
And will never have the chance to.

Tears welling,
in her amber eyes
Softly trickling, overflowing
Across her cheeks
Repeating to herself
in her lonely mind,
struggling to believe
This was just a nightmare.

But days went by,
first one, then two, then three
When Monday crept up on her
still, the nightmare did not cease
Realizing this upsets her
She only has a single day.

That day, she was committed
Good for the world,
she thought to herself
And wanders around the town,
looking for good deeds
to bring to heaven

A little girl, a beggar
as young as five
Was crying in the streets
the lady soothes the little girl
and learned she's lost her mommy
Don't be afraid, the lady says,
I'll bring to you your mommy.

The lady stood and steps
across the street
to begin the search
In her mind was fixed,
she wants to do some good.
So focused was she,
that she didn't see
A giant, speeding truck
And neither did the driver
see the poor, young lady.

The lady died on Monday.

You should never delay until tomorrow, what you can do today.
You might not have until tomorrow to do them.

This poem is Copyright © myworld