She didn't look out the window,
For there lay the dead,
She looked instead at her mother,
Lying sick in the only bed.
She heard bells tolling slow,
Trying to ward of the curse,
A black and deadly curse.
She remembered when she thought things couldn't get worse.
But they of course had,
Her Father and Brother had fled,
In the fear of the Black Death poisoning them.
Not a tear had she shed.
Now it was her,
Alone to tend to her mother's gasping struggle for life.
The bells died away, and silence enveloped her world.
She was so alone, her mother's survival on the edge of a knife.
The town had emptied,
The homes left alone,
Her mother had the plague,
Her first tear trickled down her pale cheeks; she let out her first moan.
She thought about life,
About fate, about luck,
Wondering what it was she had done.
Then she knelt down on the stone floor,
Thinking her battle would never be won.
But then, just right then,
Her dearest mother gave a stir,
She scuttled over to her mother, and felt her quick breath,
Her mother had life, and she heard her give a murmur,
I'll be all right, was her slow whisper.
Tears of joy flowed down her long sorrowed face,
Her mother had life,
Perhaps not plentiful,
But it was still life.