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BREAST CANCER

Life is not poetry, but prose,

My friend is a rose

She told me this morning...

Born at dawn,

Bathed in the dew,

I grew and blossomed,

I was happy with the sun.

But the day was short,

My petals have withered...

But it was only yesterday

She was the most beautiful of all

Flowers in your garden.

Life is not poetry, but prose,

My friend is a rose

She told me this morning...

God sent me youth,

But soon everything took away,

I suffer from melancholy,

Losing petals.

And the light of the sun faded,

And death is not far away,

There is only darkness around now.

Yesterday sometimes during the day

You admired me,

And now I am only dust.

In the embrace of frost

There lies a naked rose,

Dead by morning.

But at night under the moon

Comes to me again

Your rosy image,

My dear flower.

Your soul is full

Both holy and good,

And the angels are with you.

In dreams and in reality

I live in hope,

I am nothing without her.

MARGUERITE DURAS