Seeing the snow fall from the sky,
She hears so quietly. why?
She knows the question all too well.
The question has a story to tell.
As she softly begins to cry,
The memories flood back, as they usually do,
And she follows them quietly, for a moment or two.
They bring her back to when her daughters were small,
And hears their sweet voices, from wherever they call.
Smiling among the tears, that continue to fall,
She'll allow herself another moment or two
Then wipe her cheeks dry, as she'd normally do.
Loving the visits, but feeling the pain.
Knowing they will never be small again,
Wondering if they ever remember too?
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