We walked in a snowstorm. When was that? Before or after the hospital? It must have been before. I wanted you to see the beauty of it. How clean it all becomes. How muffled the sound. The flakes clung to your brows and careened off your glasses. Through a smile thin and uneven, you whispered that it was beautiful. As you were unsteady, Mom and I walked on either side of you, holding your arms. I think I knew it was your last snowfall.

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Here is A Poem

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