I sensed someone
peeking in on me
and immediately felt
her mischief.

When she giggled
I said,
You can come in, Sara.

Surprised, she cocked her head
around the curtain and asked
How did you know it was me? 

A little muse told me so,
I replied, before showing her
the verse you had written
earlier in the day. 

Sara's eyes shone brightly
when she heard her name
mentioned in the poem. 

Her eyes, were all I could see
behind the mask
she wore.

Would you like a hug?
She asked,
so you won't be sad.

I laughed,
I'm not sad
I said, thinking about kids,
how they always know.

Even though Sara had never
seen me cry
or act sad, she knew,
she sensed.

Of course, I told her I would love
a hug.
But as I bent down
towards her,
she flinched away from me
and said, in a stern voice,
Are you crazy?
Without your mask!
We have to be careful of germs.

Inwardly I smiled, as I saw her
being lectured
a million times over
by loved ones and doctors.

She suddenly softened
and gently told me,
Don't worry,
I'll teach you how to have leukaemia
the right way. 

I nearly wept then,
not because I was sad,
but because a weight
has been lifted from me,
at the thought of being cared for
by an eight year-old girl
full of mischief,
with a body ravaged by leukaemia
and a heart
of innocent compassion.