Her facial features were so very peaceful
I mean, you’d hardly even believe she was, in fact, dead
A ghostly, never so much as ghastly face staring right at me in one way, not too much in many other
I see her mother and I care, truly, I do
How can you not?
This girl but three years-of-age when they took her right away from us, a car-smash that did it by the start
Enough stitches to sow the whole wide world back together again lay upon her pretty face
Once rosy-red but now, as I say, rather disheveled and agonisingly distant
Certainly no longer ever heaven-sent
Her father will level the driver on that particular day because he asked for it, so many beers in the first place that he was never, ever going to steer in any other way but through her
I soon get to move myself on, placing a flower down upon her crushed chest
Bless her, for she used to steal apples from my garden way back when yesterday was oh so very perfect
A far more beautiful kind of animosity on this world’s part, or so it will always seem today

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