Grandmothers death

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Gentle little thingFragile as can beThe smallest bird you will ever seeThe bird is molting Oh how can it beThe green little feathers Lay on the ground all scattered aroundShe could have lived longerAnd with me Gentle little thing Fighting I pleedT
Who am I? Who was I? Who will I be? My mind wonders aimlessly as I see you lying at my feet Though your troubles have ended my world stays troubled still As I fight to attain all that for me you willed
You used to call me Jessy I always hated it But now I would give anything,  Everything To hear you call me Jessy Just one more time
I was only 5. She was in her slumber. Silver hair lying  across a feather pillow, eyes closed, Peaceful As I brush her hair.   Her face once soft,  now wrinkled with age.
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