Outside there is light rain,
padding down gently
the way she used to walk.
It is warm, but there is no
soft firebox curled next to you.
You cry when I bring you her blanket,
want her back, but
she is outside now,
wild again,
in clouds, in sweet air.
Until you see her again,
may she bring warmth
to your sadness,
love that has no distance,
no condition, no passing.
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