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Doar
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it has been placed upon another place,
a place of peace and while it dies, the place it remembers dies as well.
it was planted by my hands, and it was teared over by my eyes, as a wet afternoon , a tour of an afternoon.
We placed Lilies at the decorated tomb and then we left, it seemed as if when in life we were afraid to notice him.
I watched him die, in his comfort chair. I didn't know what to say to him. I muttered something and left.
and there was no rose left.
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100725
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