If roses grow in heaven Lord, please pick a bunch for me. place them in my mothers arms. And tell her they are from me. Tell her I love her and miss her, and when she turns to smile, place a kiss upon her cheek, and hold her for a while. Because remembering her is easy, I do it everyday. But there is an ache within my heart, that will never go away. (Poem for those who were dead in paris after the attacks.)