"All life ends in death”, my father says to me as I sob loudly. Sunny, my pet sheep, had passed away in her sleep. She lies there in a hole, cold and lifeless. Her wool still as white as a cloud, even though dirt is surrounding her. She seems to have that effect; even though the darkest days she would stand there a beaming white light of happiness. She would run with me through the fields, and it felt like nothing could stop us. Sunny would lie next to me whenever I decided I would rather sleep on hay than a bed. Once the hole was filled with the last chunk of earth, I laid the bouquet of sun flower with her ribbon holding them tight and her bell. We left as the sun was starting to rise, and it felt like the sun was also grieving too.
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