Normally
I would get rid of it,
the porcelain angel
gazing from my shelf--
no use for gold-leaf wings
or white, pudgy cheeks.
But it was a gift from a little girl
who knew much more than me,
more about life and dreaming,
a woman in flowered, flared jeans,
dragging a baby sister along.
I stare at the little angel now
and remember how much I have to learn
about the smallest things in this world.
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