There's a red enamel jug filled with jonquils
this book I'm writing in right now
the painting hanging over my fireplace
oil lamps on my mantlepiece
photos of us together, laughing, on my piano
your christmas gift - a lemon tree - in my garden
your daughter's voice to me on the phone
your recipes in my book
your letters on my laptop
your books in my library
your candlesticks on my table
your face on your daughter
How will i ever compose myself
Now that you're gone?
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