I wrote this as free verse, should I make a shorter poem about it, or make a longer short story, or both. I love the concept though, thanks for your input. Really long, sorry.
She lived in a small
One room house.
Her four children in tow
Her love in the fields.
And they are happy
In thier serfdom.
He had work and food
To feed his children.
And he had his love.
Their fath was strong
With Church every Sunday.
Christ had made life grand
In return of the devotion of
This humble family.
In a time of chivalry,
Women were vulnerable and weak.
Yet she was strong and for that,
He loved her.
Then the sickness came,
It creeped in,
Like a fog among the coast.
England's weather is miserable.
Some say the illness was bred
From the cold and rain.
Bethany, the youngest,
Fell sick first.
Her little coughs mimiced
The creaking roof.
She complained of cold
When her forehead,
Was drenched in sweat.
Her fingers and toes
Were as black as the serpent's heart.
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