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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Other · #2234128
A small girl has been watching a stranger.
There is a woman,
She walks the streets,
I see her everyday.

She smiled at me once,
It made me warm inside,
I smiled back at her.

But sometimes she will walk with,
A sad look on her face,
I wonder why she is sad.

She always dresses in the same clothes,
And her clothes are never, ever dirty,
My clothes get dirty very, very easily.

I pointed her out to friends and family,
They couldn't see and looked at one another,
So I pretended not to see her again.

One night, when they left me with Aunt Margaret,
Auntie fell asleep so I looked for my friend,
I knew she was real, I was just checking.

I walked down the road in the dark, looking around,
I turned a corner, and she was standing there, smiling,
I walked up to where she was and smiled back.

She spoke very softly to me; "Why are you here, Alice?"
"I've been looking for you," I pointed at her, "Found you"
She tilted her head; the sad look again on her face.

The woman held out her hand, I took it, we began walking,
"Alice, you are six years old, yes?" I replied; "I'm almost seven",
"I have to tell you, Alice, things that you may not like".

She spoke of death, of things I did not understand until then,
By the time she had finished, we had walked back to my house,
The sun was rising and it felt like a new start to my life.

The woman explained that she was sent to look after me for a while,
I had a terminal disease; she helped me to understand what that really meant,
She said I had died in my sleep, and that I should not worry.

"Are you ready, Alice?"

I took her hand, smiled at her and said;

"Yes, mummy."
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