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Published: Jan 2011
In the place where she was born.
I can still see her plain as ever,
For she lives in my make-believe world.
She drives on roads that are painted pink:
And crosses rivers without any pain.
She is available for the many great things
that were always coming her way.
Sometimes in the early morning,
I can still see that plane in the sky;
And I relive the pain I felt
That Sunday that she died!
Her world crashed that day-
When she was charting her course;
It would be her last trip in the sky
She would walk on this earth never more.
Now she sees ancestors and footprints too.
She asks of ears that do not hear; Where am I?
And ends in the land of waterfalls.
She feels her skin that's like mountain dirt.
And somehow knows she is home.
It is the land where her peace reigns.
Do not mind, you cannot see her
For where she is we cannot go.
She lays where the shadows grow:
And flowers bloom around her bed,
And birds wake her in the mornings
While fire-flies light her nights.
I think maybe she may
Still be flying in the clouds!
(c) Margaret Adkins