Five.

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I stared at the picture,
His hair frail and worn,
Born three months too early,
Everyone understood,
Five little babies,
One boy and four girls,
Their parents miracles,
And bundles of joy,
Nothing subsided,
Until the little boy died,
One Diaper Drive shut,
Only two went going on,
The babies still too weak,
Only one in the hospital,
Three girls at home,
With the mother and father,
One day before thanksgiving,
The little one came home,
Awaiting to see her parents,
and snuggle to her sisters,
Only if the little boy stayed,
Then there would be five again.





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