Spread - Poem by Ima Ryma
First, my mother and father died,
Leaving we four children to try
To escape the disease inside.
Then my sister, Winnie, did die.
We hoped for help to make us well.
My brother, Tendar, then fell ill.
His small body began to swell,
And finally death made him still.
Then my sister, Prisca, met death,
Leaving me all alone to face
The misery, till my last breath
At home, a helpless, hopeless place.
The spread of cholera goes on.
Soon my family will be gone.
Comments about Spread by Ima Ryma
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You