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A knitted bag in a crowded room,
Placed beside a dusty broom,
Holds eight treasures all unique,
Belonged to one who carefully keeps.
Four foot two and curly blonde hair,
Age of eight, pale skin so fair.
Doctor’s orders to rest in bed,
Her sickness running through her head.
Once favorite things she can’t do no more,
Like going to school or to the store.
For in this bag she keeps her goods,
To be remembered because she should.
Her favorite yoyo, a toy of her past,
Pepper seeds planted which grew very fast,
Her favorite snack, popcorn and pop,
Out of her diet, she had to stop.
A magnet of a quote in her favorite book,
A forest scene from a magnet she took.
Bread ties for her favorite lunch,
PB & J with a chunky crunch.
Candles were always lit at her side,
For a light of hope before she died.
A block from chicken soup she made,
With her mom before the day,
She closed her eyes and fell asleep,
Never to make another peep.