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A rainy Sunday
I'm in my room
Staring at the wall.
At the picture, the picture
That my fallen hero painted.
She was too young.
Only in her forties.
Why did she have to go
Before I even met her?
The house, peaceful during the day
Crows flying overhead
In a sky of delightful beauty.
She was only twelve when she did it.
The picture is amazing.
I look up to her, I know she knows
And hope to one day
To be just like her.
An artist, a worker, a great mom to my dad
A fighter, who wouldn't let anything overcome her.
I've seen her pictures
I look just like her twin.
I wish I'd had a chance to meet this twin.
I could've, I should've, I would've
If it weren't for one word.
Cancer.
You may wonder why I wear all these ribbons
Now you know.
So when one day when I'm a hero
I'll be able to meet
The person I inspired.
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