people love to come up
to tell you what she was
to them. How she could
scoop them up and hold
them toward the clouds
or brought out the edges
of their soul and they cry
and look at you to hold
them as she did. They
even say "its not too bad,
She left us you." Sniffing,
stretching toward you,
they smell new hope but
it is just you are still baking
and when done you'll be
beyond anything she could
even imagine. You just feeding
yourself unto yourself,
whole on your own.
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