By one who knew her well,
As explorations into her feelings,
Before she could e'en tell,
A journalist first, in time if not mind,
She looked in from outside,
Searching for those gold moments that revealed,
What humanity would never confide,
Including the grief she could not ignore,
As her loved ones both left,
Until she wrote through the pain that she felt,
She would not be bereft,
Though now she's not,
Others must be for her,
Joan Didion, I will soon read your works,
To understand life's meaning through your words.
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