How does such a simple, innocent face
Paint one thousand colours with a smile?
She had as well a smile to be seen:
Soft as a willow tree, smooth as china,
Exult with her youth, do you remember?
See that? The golden glory of her eyes?
Ageless; Ductile like poetry's first words,
Pure; like the poem that is no poem,
A birth, a miracle, illness, a hearse.
Life stolen from someone who did not know
How to keep it, or why it ended thus.
Your eyelids from birth lay idle by night;
Out of the oven, into the trash can.
Before our greedy eyes of ivory
Celia has lost this life's lottery
And she isn't coming back.
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