She was an artist
A painter of flowers
Small children at play
Of happiness reflected in innocent smiles
She was a poet
A magician with words so plain
The rival of Keats and Kipling
A painter of worlds in pencil and paper
She was a daughter
Given to easy smiles
Quick playful glances
Able to warm the coldest of hearts
She was loved
Is loved
Will forever be loved
Because of her I will always know
What true beauty is
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