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This poem is about the way that life seems cruel at times, and how it takes away that which we cherish most.
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Little Sister |
| by Michael D. |
I remember her at the age of six,
her eyes and smile aglow.
She was the light from the sun,
and her passing: dark of night.
Knowing she was going soon,
we grieved while she still lived.
At the age of seven her face
changed, puffy as a "dough-boy" babe.
She fought the lump at the base
of her brain, science could not touch.
Her laughter cut through our weeping,
valiant in the face of tragedy.
My soul it burned - no end in sight,
the day I saw her chest rise no more.
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