The Forecast

The forecast predicted rain
Hail, sleet, and snow
The doctor predicted three months
And then a departure to the silent land
shattered hearts with no glue
A family torn a part with no clue
Yet she always knew that her pain
Would leave them in vain
Stage three of breast cancer
Cursed her body like a lion eating its prey
From there we knew death had entered the room
To carry her away like the forecast predicted.

© Tiffany Collins