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Comments about Michael Charlebois
She walked through the forest,
past the trees and bushes,
the clearings and streams
where she played as a child.
She passed the fence
that bordered the land
she once called home.
She opened the door, and saw
the things that made her childhood
The trinkets she gave to her mother
as birthday presents,
made special through the eyes of a child.
The pictures on the wall, reminders
of the good times in her life.
She thinks of her own child,
now gone, and weeps
for the memories that will never be.
She sees the grave, ...