"You have six months to live."
They told the little boy,
He couldn't have been more than seven.
"We can make it a year if you decide to do chemo and radiation."
Such a young soul,
Facing demons and the real world, when he should be out playing with friends.
He chose the chemicals, medicine,
And harmful rays that would keep him alive,
Still the tumor grew,
Still his parents cried.
He did too at first,
Then he stopped one day,
And that now bald little boy started smiling again.
Every night he'd pray for peace,
Every morning he would sit with his teddy bear and talk about the girl he liked.
In the afternoon he would get up out of the bed and look out the window,
He would watch the flowers and the trees sway,
He would sing softly to himself,
Bob his head back and forth as he muttered to the wind:
"I'm walking on sunshine."
For six more months the tumor grew larger, and he got sicker,
Finally, he sat on his bed,
Unable to move from the pain.
His mother held his right,
His father held the left,
Before he passed, he beckoned them closer,
"I'll be okay."
"It might not be here."
"But I'll be okay."
The gates of the cage were ripped open with his last breath,
He slipped out of that old shell that held him,
He could dance with ease now,
His could soar and so could he.
He watched over his mother,
He held his father close.
And late at night when they couldn't sleep,
He would sit on the edge of their bed and sing them a lullaby,
One that only he could hear,
But they could feel.