Is It Poetry
On The Death Of Your Brother
Blessed child of mine Caroline.
It is lovely, it was deep, he once was a person.
The other person.
Never turning back looked around,
before leaving and to no one he said.
It withdrew that sword I am shielded finally,
in the angel the rock It is sad never morn me.
Coming before you so that you sleep.
That was agreeable with the smile of the angel,
the one sad parent whom cried hands raised, what is left?
Where you go he rises from the ocean of pain,
and the breeze of the wombs perfume.
But as for my leaving death to come visit if even.
Not being the profit, you are not discouraged.
Victory of your life came from my grave.
A clear plastic bag no metal no wood to spare.
No one knows but her for the joy,
and I of mine when your and her monopolized one.
So blessed at lest was one person when he.
Gave me about you in her to rise once more.
Lovely is heaven,
and as for the joy you insisted in leaving her call.
And, the growing to all parents
and from whence in the chest was it given.
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