Wild Child

This poem marvels at the strength of a close friend of mine who battled several of the horrors life has thrown at her - ovarian cancer being the most fatal and recent of them - and emerged triumphant.

Late nights, lights flashing.

Shot glass in hand, fire catching.

Teetering in high heels 

on the brink of inebriation.

Yet manages to engage in intelligent conversation.

The picture of youthful exuberance,

crimson lipstick in place.

The epitome of adolescence-

A proud, beautiful face.

Body ripped, heart torn.

Strength unlike I have ever known

A plethora of secrets locked in a trunk.

The designated wild child - an embodiment of spunk.

It is much to early for you to go numb.

The world has not quite had enough.

With my tumbler of milk and your glass of rum 

- A toast to the years to come