It's very choppy and does not flow to well, but I hope it inspires you to write something of your own that would be better.
As a young man entering a serious world, I, Peter Rose, had learned to become serious. The world was cold and so was I; a match made in the depths of hell. Never, as a working man, had I noticed the blue skies outside my office window, nor could I smell the sweet aroma of croissants in the bakery I would pass on my walk home, and not once I had a heard the beautiful singing of my neighbors' daughter through the thin walls of the apartments. With a serious heart, I knew no joy. Forgetting my memories of fun in the park with friends, rushes of adrenaline from amusement park rides, peace and serenity given to me through a cup of tea and a good book to read, and the love I had given to a girl back home, I only knew the stoic emotions and numbness. Life was all hard work and nothing more-- until I lost my mother, a woman full of emotions and excitement.
"Death is dreadful, my dear son," she said to me with eyes full of contentment. "but do not focus on the strict sense of it. Focus instead on the enjoyments of life, for life is serious, yet free. Appreciate life." Holding her cold hand, I promised to her, "So, then, I shall remember to live. It is what I owe."
Though it had been hard for me, I kept my promise to her, never forgetting to live life. The past years have been a journey of sense and emotion to me as I gaze at the bright blue skies through my office window, smell and taste the pastries in the cheerful bakery that I spend time at telling stories of wonder to other customers after a day's hard work, and enjoy the voice of the little woman next door-- whose concerts I attend in the good company of her parents. I have reconnected with old friends with whom I take to parks for some good fun, and I have reconnected with my old love, the girl back at home who now is my wife. Life is wonderful, though death is serious and I mourn my mother still, however, it is my loss that has brought me joy in the end.
It could be C or D but I believe it is C since the poem seems to bring across the idea that most people see women as skinny or thin and to have large legs or a large nose, she, by some is considered "off." That's just what I think.
