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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Death · #2320822
My dear friend Gina Rose, nearly 22 years gone now somehow.
The end of you came sudden as a snap,
deep in woods as if to muffle death;
as if to save me from the sound, perhaps.
Perhaps, to share with oak your final breath.

Quirky were your ways...I often thought
you more belonged with druids, or as Queen;
Regina Rose, your 33 years were fraught
with wrestling endless enemies unseen

yet always there, your laughter in the room
and nearly always you would take the dare.
You more belonged to gallop than to gloom.
It never seemed you bedded with despair,

and yet your rifle shot split wide a night.
You married self to stars with no goodbyes:
a formless goddess fine, comprised of light
or just another fool who up and dies.
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