7th poem!
Masks
He sits by her bedside, twisted with grief.
Every morning there is no relief.
Is she gonna be ok? Her parents ask
Sadly we don't know, they say, but we're up to the task
Sitting by her beside the surgeon wonders if this
Child can be cured by death or bliss
Amy Chase tries to act oblivious but she too knows
Right now, at any moment, she could die; she's close
Every morning there is no relief before
Derek comes and gives them his cure.
