Her Last Night
D Dónall Dempsey
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It was her
last night
as her self.
Death had taken on
that burden
laid her gently to sleep
as if she were his child
or a broken doll
put back upon a shelf.
Somehow her reality
had escaped us
now only
a story
told for ever after
our crying trying
to touch again or be touched by
what we
remember most of her
her love
her laughter.
Bu şiiri puanla
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