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Deathwards Go I

Deathwards go I—
Through this needle’s narrowing eye
Called Life, — 
With mortal Thread stitched—.

If garment be weaved—
From Life by the Weaver’s loom;
Then weaved was 
I by Him— ‘til worn and creased 
Out of shape into Death’s cold womb—.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

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