He remembered hearing her laugh
Enchantingly, and the stark contrast to hearing her cry
Right now, melancholy and sorrowful for all she had lost that day.
He poured his heart into the song he sang, drying her red
Eyes and said it didn’t matter if she was blind.
She gripped his hand in her hand, which still held the flower.
She did not notice when the flower
Stem’s thorns pierced her hand, and did not laugh
When he finished his song, for she was still blind
But had run out of tears to cry.
A trickle of blood ran down her palm, a dark red.
But she did not care, for she would live through this dark day.
This Anniversary Day he had given her a flower,
A red rose. And now she would face forward and laugh,
Not cry; for she was alive, even if she was blind.
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