He touched her hair so beautiful
but not to stroke it's grace; no
I think as he shot her
He wanted to see her face.

He came when she was vulnerable
Like a black wind in the night,
He wasn't much a man at all;
She couldn't even fight.

She was talking to her sister
Her voice of love and light.
He couldn't stand her happy
To him it wasn't right.

It made the local papers
as all such terrors do;
She was now just a statistic
But not to me or you.

She sits upon the silver star
Hair blowing in the wind;
She is an angel in the void
But her name is still Lauren.

This candle burns, as always, for my beloved Lauren.