I Walked With Death
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Death held my hand as we walked a winding path,
where heavy drooping rose vines hung from tangled trees;
black, inky vines reached out for me like tentacle fingers,
wrapping, twining- but I screamed NO and ran into the void;
I woke in my hospital bed, gasping, a black vine still on my arm.
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July 2, 2017
Poetry/Verse/I Walked With Death
Copyright Protected, ID 07- 917-359-02
All Rights Reserved, 2017, Constance La France
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2017
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