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From the soil infront of the grave will be flowers, Bright and pretty and alive, And what will the body contribute to but the growth of more daisies, To set infront of more graves. On days when it's minutes away from snowing And a crisp breeze still lingers, When people wear black And rethink memories of the past And the aura of the deceased still Hang around the yard. And what is death ...

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Published: 4 months ago (Sat, 14 Mar 2009 22:21:40 PDT); 1471 bytes
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