Praying that soon her fever will break, I lay beside her in worry. I run my fingers through her hair, as she rests gently on my lap. Her hair is soft, but somewhat damp, my heart is racing fast. I feel so helpless, I am her protector, why can’t I make this stop? I run my fingers through her hair, why can’t my touch just heal? She starts to wake, and turns her head. She forces a little smile. My precious baby, she is so brave, I cannot leave her side. She looks in my eyes, and whispers so soft, “please momma don’t cry.” I wipe my tears, push away all fear, and touch her forehead again.
Today’s assignment was: Prompt – Fingers / Form – Prose / Device – Assonance