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Laura
06-17-02, 06:19 PM
Her once vibrant auburn strands have been faded with age.
Beneath her eyes, the prints of millions of birds resides.
Her lips, once a cherry red have dulled to a dusky brown.
Yet her feeble voice still commands obediance.
No more men, she has vowed.
Every man she loved is now gone, save Ben, her dear brother.
The virus is slowly destroying her from the inside.
It is hard for me, even as an adult to admit this fortress has been infiltrated.
What hurts most is that merely weeks ago, she ceased to sing.
Her voice had been beautiful as a lark’s, the envy of many a woman at garden parties,
Where she would play her grand old piano and sing.
But now, no more.
She lays in this cold room, in a bed that is not hers,
And all we can do is hope and pray.
Her frail hands no longer clutch the painter’s brush, but a cold, metal bar beside her bed.
Yet in my eyes, she is still young, still beautiful.
And I know God is calling her to be his angel now.
So I smile through my tears and let her go.
Yet I will always remember her.. my gaurdien angel,
My Aunt Eileen.

.·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·.
I wrote this a couple of years ago, when my great Aunt had her first stroke. The writing is pretty crude, but the thought is still there, and I thought I'd share.

Nicole
06-17-02, 10:01 PM
that's really sweet