Death
When Death comes calling home,
There's nowhere we can hide,
He has such a vast dome,
Can't escape his flood tide,
Death, he blows us over,
He crushes us with grief,
His nasty hangover
Will give us no relief,
Death, he pulls us deeper
Into a tangled mess,
He's the bad Grim Reaper,
Who shrouds us in darkness,
Death, who can talk 'bout him,
And still not know the truth,
He strikes at his own whim,
Whether the old or youth,
Death, none can forbade him
From entering our door,
Death, none can evade him,
He's that future in store.
03/01/2019
Copyright © Joanna Daniel | Year Posted 2019
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