The Daughter
She was all that
the simple man kept
close to his heart.
For material goods
rot and are stolen.
Her soul will live.
Her soul will glide,
her soul will be a songstress
to his sinking visage.
He lays on his bed.
For breathing is hard.
Weeds lie in the fields.
She bends to his face
and kisses his eyes.
Her soft, warm lips
bring life to his body
for golden moments
then he glimpses her countenance,
and drifts from this plane.
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