The doctor doesn't mean to hurt you her dear,
They just pray that this implant will let you hear.
Perfect little ears so cute and so small,
Who would guess that they don't work at all.
For over two years you loved music and dancing.
Now even the words to your favorite songs you don't sing.
For two weeks you were so sick and it just isn't fair,
That now there is this that you have to bear,
On such young, tough, little shoulder.
But you handle it as well as twelve little soldiers.
Her brave, strong little man,
She'll do all that she can.
To give you back all you've lost,
She'll go to the ends of the earth at all cost.
She'll do anything--whatever she can,
To make you a smiling, happy little boy again.

It's sad when children have to endure impairments, Scott.

But with all of the new medical advancements, at least some of these don't have to be life-long or as difficult.

Best,
Carol

Dear **Scott**: That epistle on ~hearing~
struck positive notes seldom veering.
Apparently, sound
can seem to redound
in favour of something save jeering.

When we see a young child affected by some physical difficulty it is sad. The little boy in your poem will eventually forget the ordeal and enjoy his life. I enjoyed your poem, Scott.

a sad tale, Scott ... even more so, as the little boy knows what he's missing
I hope it all comes right for him

Rose