“When will I see mommy?” Clare would ask everyday.

“Before you head to bed, honey” Auntie would reply.

Those words echoed in her ear as her eyes pleaded to be closed.

This time,her mother made it. Just before the monitor flat-lined.

Melancholy spread as Clare finally slept with a smile.

This poem was selected as the runner up of the Commaful.com 50WS Contest! Read the original post here.