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Her Room - Still Memories


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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

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Hi Janine,

Sorry about delay in replying, I now realise that somehow the e-mail notification box had become unticked? Anyway, many thanks for taking the time and trouble to respond to my submission, and for your kind comments. I'd never heard that expression 'Beautiful sorrow' before, but I too find it quite a poignant phrase.

Thank you once again. Best wishes - David

www.windowpains.org

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