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SPRING
1999Sondra Ball, Mickleton MM
Only this: a small ribbon
caught among the few things in her pack,
a bright red ribbon—
nothing more.
How often small fingers tore that ribbon
from long black hair blowing in the wind.
And then death came
silently through the moonless night.
Some mother kept a red ribbon,
and nothing more.
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Last modified:
Wednesday, February 18, 2004 at 08:19 AM
