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Good-Bye Mommy

By
His father's old sketchbooks,
the still dreams scome back.
Steep in the images of other places,

worlds, trying to love.
Dreams of his mother, running

through a field dressed in white.
His father and she had fought

for the last time.
Still as stone in the back seat,

eyes wide...
Clinging onto theAmber necklace,

from her neck to him.
"She won't be coming back'

he said.





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