Vines creep, sweetly spreading
The opponent unaware
Ivy knows the direction, to which She is
Fight the good fight, religion is the key.
Softly, similar to a menace
Slow lingering kisses,
Determined to break.
That which recognises a woman
Lost, nearly never to return
Weeping. Weeping. Weeping.
Sorrow, Ivy continues her journey.
Conditions worsen, terms to come.
Acceptance mirrors defeat, time.
Last words, a lifetime spoken in few,
Ivy embraces her vessel comfort
Her work is done.
She lies, waiting to die.
Present is a smirk, conveying all.
Happiness, entirety, peace.
Here on Earth on the day of black
A tear is present, displaying all
Weeping, so much weeping
The cancer, yet again has
Sung her song.
Ivy parts with the innocent,
The song of the dead.