A breath of
death is enough to arrest a life,
Until today It was another being,
The one who sat, who ate, who drank, but seen
The spirit of death unto herself, she strives
To escape the wreath she tried her best to revive...
if you don't get my point, then please reread the poem. A sonnet is of 14 lines, but i've thought NOT to finish this poem... This poem is dedicated to my aunt. Please please please, don't criticise on this as a "poem". Had i finished this, it would've been marvelous.