Life was always like her poems.
Really poetry was her life.
Her life was free and forever flowing just like her poetry.
There was always a hint of pain and sorrows in every line.
But really each one matched her life perfectly.
She always tried to be perfect.
But just like any other, she slipped up once or twice.
The love that she wrote about in her poems finally came true.
She married at 29, just in time for her golden day.
The man was as imperfect as she was, and yet she loved him still.
The first of their kids came with a shock.
And yet he left that very day.
With her little boy gone she was left in a daze.
The second and third came and they were perfect.
Those two little girls will forever hold her key.
The key to her heart that is.
Those two little ones made her happy and gleam.
She was so happy that she just had to plea.
Plea for her life to go on, for she was dying.
Dying she was until that wonderful day.
That wonderful day that made her better.
So her life went on and on,
With a lot of laughs and just a few tears.
So now that things are almost over she would like to say this simple thing:
Live a little, and play fare.
For you must live life in order to love life.
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