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death poem

what spiteful chance steals unawares
there are three ways in which men take
it was many and many a year ago
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
blossoms of babies
we lay
i love to steal awhile away
who is the runner in the skies
here falls no light
this is the song of youth
master of human destinies am i
since i have felt the sense of death

 



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