A Poem

She gave her everything to them.

She cut her hair, and baked it in a pie, and gave it to her son.

"Here, son, eat this pie."

And he did.

And she was content.

She cut her hand, and put it in soup, and gave it to her daughter.

"Here, daughter, eat this soup."

And she did.

And she was content.

She cut out her lungs, and made them into dough, and baked them into cookies, and gave it to her grandson.

"Here, grandson, eat these cookies."

And he did.

And she was content.

She took out her soul, and made it into cake, and gave it to her grandaughter.

"Here, grandaughter, eat this cake."

And she did.

And she was content.

She cut out her heart, and made it into a necklace, and gave it to her beloved.

"Here, my love, a necklace for you."

He put it on.

And she was content.

She laid down on her bed, and took her last breath.

And she was content.