by Tom Wyatt
originally published in 1992
Sometimes it’s hard to pick her up and give Her the hugs that she needs;
She looks so much like Johnny, oh God help Me please.
I still wait for him to come downstairs Dripping wet after his bath;
Telling a joke, crossing his eye, anything To make me laugh.
But then I see him under that truck
His little body broken and still;
Death doesn’t discriminate and that ‘s a
The resemblance is scary she even laughs
The same what am I going to do?
Does the same fate await my girl, will death
Come and take her too?
All I can do is love her for herself not
Because she reminds me of him;
But as long as I can look into her eyes
His light will never dim.
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