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My Mother was like a Rose

My mother was like a rose beautiful at sight frail to touch. She could stand up and say her mind. She needed love I feel like she never got any. And that’s why she withered away like a rose. Her heart was pure, her soul made of gold. She’d rustle in the wind, and hide when cold, much like a blooming rose. Day by day a petal would drop ‘til nothing was left. She was the dying rose. And as each day goes by without her sweet melody, I tell myself this: I must not cry that she is gone but smile, she was here. Written by my 10-y.o. daughter Payton

Copyright © | Year Posted 2010

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Date: 6/18/2010 6:32:00 AM
This was written by my 10 y.o. daughter in tribute to her mom who died 2 years ago after a very long, painful, awful struggle with anorexia/bulimia. Watching her waste away was very traumatic for my daughter, but she is a remarkable human being. I always thought I had a little talent with this poetry stuff - until she let me read her stuff! If I ever get to the level of my daughter, then I will consider myself a good poet.
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