April 9, 2009
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I remember the yellow roses you always loved.
Your small hands, always so cold.
You treated me like a little angel
when I slept over and did your make up.
I smile when I think of you in
your beautiful Chinese dresses.

In the winter time you lit the cinnamon candles
with the reddish orange flames.
Your face is as beautiful as the roses you so loved.
I wish that you had never died.
I think sometimes that you will come back.

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Shayla said...
Apr. 27, 2009 at 2:55 pm
This is such a good poem!Its very descriptive and i just love the imagery
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