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Propped up: She - against lace pillows I - against the knowledge of the few grains of sand remaining in her hourglass. Cautious: She - past her winter season I - in my springtime faced each other, gently, so not to melt the delicate snow or slow the blooming bud. Confused: Her words - through withered lips tolled with soft disorder My mind - at loving pitch tuned the quiet sound. And from that whisper of her ancient chimes a thought came ringing clear: "Each person is a color that only you can see their hue and shades distinctive their mood is caught or free. I'll miss my human rainbow." She closed her eyes and sighed. Then, in the midst of my ten years a Lavender Lady died. |
