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Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #1063296
Dealing with a sisters death is very hard.
One whole year has past,
But it still goes round my head,
Why didn't I tell her before,
Right then, Before she was Dead>

The Truth was I was,
Jealous of her,
So for the last Christmas we had,
I gave her Myrr.

Sometimes I wish,
I was never born,
I wished,
Every evening, noon and morn.

But now it's over,
I can still hear her wail,
And recite by memory,
All the card's in the mail.
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Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1063296-Her-Death