She did not die much

With a ten year old mind she could not  have died much
And  what little she had died caused just a little belly burn
Over a park sitting in breeze- lips pursing poor thing- saying
How good it was for her to die ,to old parents , to the world
And  to  a forty five year old body, with a wrinkled forehead
And red anger ,dry love,silver laughter,  killer love in street
Little children running with stones of laughter behind her ,
A body that had the rich echoes of a ten year  kid's laughter
Eyes that knocked against meaning , distorted the world.
There was  not much of a story and  she did not die much.

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