Get Well Soon Poem by Isadora Quagmire

You are so quiet and still,
your face is whitely pale,
you look so sickly and ill,
I wish you were whole and hale.

I miss your eyes deep gaze,
I miss your lovely humming,
I miss your words that spirits would up-raise,
I miss your graceful hands' sewing.

I'll sit by your bedside where you lie,
I'll stay near until you are better,
I'll sing for you your favorite lullaby,
until you're released from injury's fetter.

I love you, Violet