A gracious repeat

Once when she spoke her hands flew up like birds
startled by the rising storm of her words.
Her eyes would gleam like emeralds -how absurd
we feel, to see her dying soft and slow.

Now she lies upright soft as fallen cloud,
and weakness makes fallow what once was proud.
To eat, to drink, is all but disallowed.
We feel, to see her dying soft and slow.

And soon the moment when we feel her soul
depart the vessel, pay the final toll.
And how then will this Earth be ever whole?
We feel, to see her dying soft, and slow.
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