Having returned from the mortuary to identify the body of my daughter, I sat in her room and wrote the following poem. I hope you like it. Her room is still, the pillow bare Where hopes and dreams were born, No sun kissed cheeks, no golden hair To lay upon ‘til dawn. The mirror mourns with tarnished bloom No beauty to reflect, A smile so warm and radiant No one could reject. Her desk a tribute to hours of toil Her lamp no shadows cast, Ambitions set and almost met Now vanished with the past. Her fragrance drifts with weakened pulse Bringing comfort to those who seek, Clothes held tight and cradled close Against her mother’s cheek. Silent tapes no longer breathe The rhythm of life and dance, If only God would free her And give her that second chance. David T.Kerry www.windowpains.org