The house was quiet the only sound was Beth's occasional sob, she was in Joseph's room, crying. He had drawn his last breath hours ago, although he was strong he couldn't fight the fever. For eight days he fought, but the sickness won the battle and now he was…gone
We buried him the following day. No one came. Only us, we were the only ones who had won the battle. Beth was still fighting the fever but she was winning, winning the battle. We sat in front of Joseph's grave for what seemed hours. I stroked her hair and sung her a song my mother sang to me in times of sorrow, times of grief.
Ah poor bird
Take thy flight
Far above the sorrows
Of this sad night
Oh poor bird
High in flight
High above the mountain tops
On this cold night
Little bird
Fly away
High up on a mountaintop
On this sad day