Pain and Sorrow Set in Verse

A satirical poem written by author Linda Smith, suffering from advanced breast cancer; and a poem written to her by one of her eight children, Annie Hendershott, 15.

Sir Cancer

Cancer Can-you-sir?

Well, sir, that’s not fair,

Go away you rotten grinch,

(Though you can keep my hair.)

And, yes, just keep those eyebrows,

I’m sorry, there’s just two,

But not those things inside of me,

That once so healthy grew,

My bones, my brain, my liver

I’ll pay zillions! Just deliver!

Yes! you can have my ruined looks,

My money, HA! My future books

My house? My car? Now let’s discuss!

All that stuff belongs to us,

Anything belongs to me?

I’m generous!! It’s ALL for free,

My kids? Dear God, now, let them stay,

You thief! Don’t steal their mom away,

My years with them, now don’t you dare!

You criminal! It isn’t fair!

You’re already stealing all I’ve got!!

So Cancer, cancer, CAN-you-Sir?

No Sir, you may NOT!!

--Linda Smith

To My Mother

There’s nothing that can steal your face,

Or take the warmth of your embrace,

Or steal your special love away,

Forever more, and to a day.

These gifts are locked away by me.

I have the only golden key.

I’ve always had them from the start,

These are the riches of my heart,

Fly away up to a star,

Touch the heavens, oh so far,

Shake God’s hand, the angels too,

The best they’ll ever meet is you.

--Annie Hendershott