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Room 647
The hospital room as desolate as
A classroom during summertime
He looked back to
The fall
In this room she used to lay
Her smile blinding
Masking the fear
And burning in the wind
He though someday she would leave
On two feet
Striding over the rubber tiles
Waving goodbye to the years
Now the flowers wither a little
Like tulips on a tombstone
Just comfort for imminence
What good were they really?
With no recipient
The cards look lonely
Uttering impossibles
She could never "get well soon"
The warmth is gone from the room
The bed is made too well
He thinks the winter's breath
Might freeze him
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