Mourn
Mourn
Oh I fear the Death of love!
For you to snatch away,
the very people hold so dear,
take me instead you beast.
Afraid of salted tears that wound,
the memories bleed astray.
Let go your grip you dastard Death!
Take someone else instead.
Oh I fear you’ll come for them too soon!
Then whatever shall I do?
To mourn the gentle Death of flesh,
take me instead — oh please!
Copyright © Monika Martyn | Year Posted 2016
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