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In a field of flowers,
A little girl twirls;
Her gold hair shimmering in
The illuminating sun, carefree.

She knows nothing of
Her forgotten sister,
All except for a few
Photographs in the box in the closet upstairs.

But, as she grows older,
She asks more questions,
About the other girl
With the blond curls in her baby pictures.

But, her parents always tell her
“When you’re older”.
Still, she wants to know
So she asks someone else

Who tells her, fleetingly,
Of a little girl,
Barely five years old,
Whose curls fell out in the first round of treatment.

And thus the girl had her first
Experience with the patient death
That would follow her forever
In the cruel world of human life

And so the girl
Is no longer a child,
As innocence is lost
In the secrecy of death.

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