Her world held together with a string

Rather our world,

As we sit twenty across and forty back

Red bows in our hair,

We mourn.

Her world was masked by red lip-stick

Face covered the tears

As the tears in her arms hid under warm winter sweater

This is not what was mean by sweater weather.

We cry.

Her world to us was full of successes,

To her she only saw the failure

As we laughed she smiled always wondering

Were we laughing at her?

We pray.

Her world was full of color

But she started to see the black over white

As she’s asked why, we thought she mean how,

Not why is the world so dark

Sitting in black we begin to understand

We ask why.

Her world ended, saving six other worlds

The lives of those who will still remain

As her dust blows away down the street

We say good-bye to her.

Red bows in our hair.

She smiles.