Poem Untitled (unfinished)

Shhh do not tell that death is standing just outside your door,

For death has gone out roaming as it never did before,

Shhh do not tell that death is wandering out upon the road,

Or that it brings new sorrow,

More than just a lonesome soul.

Then do not stop and welcome it,

Or ask it for a song,

Or wait to hear the dirges play

That follow it each morn.

The plague had never died you see,

The scourge was never gone,

Except inside men’s minds,

Who would forget its doleful Sound.

It would return to take men’s lives,

To bring the mothers’ cries.

Forgot but not yet buried from oh so long ago,

It reappeared to count the dead,

And then ride past this door.

Yes, death is nightly riding by,

and daily checks its rolls,

To see if still more dying comes,

To try another soul.





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