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.