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A lady of unruly character, Maureen
she holds the hearts of children, mothers,
fathers, sons. Any that will designate a
split second of their day - to stare into
those striking blue eyes,
dancing with age and adolescence alike
Creviced hands clasp her bitter, black coffee,
etched with timeless tellings of tales as
she swirls the sweetener into its depths,
she holds the key to it all, Maureen
in times of hardship and hate, her hearty laugh
powered by the smoke of cigarettes,
will envelope and embrace you
The warmth, oh wondrous warmth,
on such a cold, winters morning
and now with such an unbearable sadness,
we all go into a deep, deep mourning.
For no longer does the smoke swirl on a Sunday,
no longer are the children greeted with chocolates
of their choosing,
Maureen – we were blessed to belong to
a gallery of your growing glory,
peeking a glimpse into your final story,
And so, this marks the greatness of your heart,
even if life managed to somehow taint such art.
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That was a lovely tribute to this lady.
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