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Promises are not always kept.
Some are not ours to keep.
A bud may not unfold
or fledging fly. The old
and loved may not endure
for our sake. We dare
to wish it were not so,
but ache for the truth we know:
we live precariously
and for our losses weep,
for the life we cannot save
and for ourselves bereft.
Living with loss is hard.
The pain does not quickly fade.
The loss remains entire
in the heart and memory,
and something else worth
keeping: the subtle legacy,
fruit of love's discipline
hard won through shared years:
strength to live without lies,
fantasy and false prophecies,
without the feared paralysis
of hesitation and despair.
This promise is ours to fulfil.
Grief gives it shape and pattern,
and after tears fall cleanly
we learn in quietness to accept.
One thing in time is certain:
after loss there is renewal.
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