In the quiet of a withered eve,
Shadows stretch across the room,
The silence whispers tales of grief,
As illness casts its looming gloom.

Every breath a gentle sigh,
A fragile thread in the night,
Dreams flutter, pale and shy,
Beneath the cold, unyielding light.

Memories linger, soft and tender,
In the corners of the mind,
A heart that yearns to remember,
The warmth it seeks to find.

Yet in this stillness, hope abides,
A flicker in the endless dark,
For even as the illness hides,
The spirit holds its steadfast spark.