For Whitnye

March 18, 2010
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To know who she is,
And to love her for it.
There is no difference.
To know her is to love her.

She strides peacefully,
Robed in cheerfulness and splendor.
Eyes display hope and innocence.
Whirling in grace and twirling in excitement,
An amazement to we who admire her.

We, as in, all who have had the pleasure to meet her.
We shield her in love and affection
Fiercely protect her from all wrongdoing and wretchedness.
Tenderly wipe away any saltwater shed
And amuse her until she can smile again.

There is nothing—I say, nothing—we won’t do for her.
And we say it safely,
Because she is charitable and righteous.

And on top of all these mesmerizing words
That may scatter the reader’s brain in wonder…
She is here for us too. Dial, she’ll answer,
Cry out, she’s out
The door and by our side till we’re alright.
We fall, she’s down on her knees as well,
Soiling herself just so she can lift us up and clean us off.

When she’s joyful, we can’t help but be as well,
Because we empathize with her greatly.
Which means, when she sobs, so do we,
And simply cannot laugh until we hear her speak in happiness.
We can’t wait to see and be with her,
Can’t wait to embrace her and tell her how much we care.
But then, on the flip, it is agonizing when the time comes to depart,
And when we look back, she is gone.

We don’t know her path and mayn’t be on it forever,
So we enjoy the blessing that she is,
For “nothing gold can stay”,
And my, she is golden.


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