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 © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2017
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