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Tracing the path of a summer paused, blown petal,
Upon a rain soaked window pane,
Life slides down…
Death undeserted,
Reformed, and remade…
Not least in this lonely, witnessing eye,
Equal in mercy…?
Equal in rain…?
So how can I deny, this interchange,
I find, both, comforting and disconcerting,
She would have been, twenty-six today…
She loved petals, especially, those orphaned,
And… she loved the rain…