Standing only six feet away
from Melissa Walters,
forever nineteen.
I feel her paint this place
with grace.
In this place she walks
golden hair follows,
wheat waving in the wind.
In this place she touches
trees still standing.
In their shade violets grow
the color of Melissa’s eyes.
Six feet takes me
one hundred and fifty
and two
years to this place,
that I may listen
to her soft voice
echo off green hills
that roll away,
so far away.
Six feet away,
nothing but dust,
all her radiance
given away.
Six feet away
Melissa Walters lay,
forever nineteen.
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