God saw you getting tired
A cure was not to be,
So He put his arms around you
And whispered, "Come with Me."
With tearful eyes we watched you
And saw you fade away,
Although we loved you dearly
We could not make you stay.
A golden heart stopped beating
Your tender hands at rest,
God took you home to prove to us
He only takes the best.

(Written in loving memory of Kelly Anne Spittler. My mother who passed away in 2011 at age 47 after a short fight with Breast Cancer.)