My desk holds all the pictures you used to draw for me

Ducks and ballet dancers floating in a dream

Kittens wearing Santa hats, and puppies on the floor

Sketches that you, my friend, will sketch for me no more

Cleaning time is here again, and I know they have to go

But it hurts so much to say good-bye; I just cannot let go

These sketches of our friendship are the only thing I have

To remember all the memories, the good times and the bad

But I can’t keep everything, and you, my friend, are gone

Keeping pictures from the dead seems really rather wrong

So I will throw them all away, though, in my head, they’ll stay

All the pictures that you drew, I’ll keep up there, locked away

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