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.