You were ripped away just to soon,
Worst than a tycoon.
I felt like a hollow shell of my original self,
To comfort me, all I have is a lonely picture on a shelf.
Myself, I save,
is to visit your grave.
Not even the darkest days,
will stop me from coming your way.
You were took at fifty-two.
Too young, you never knew.
Too much for me to handle at twelve.
Forever in memory, your pictures are on my shelves.
-For my mother Dawn Lochridge Hardin
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