Sleeping.

As we look through the glass,waiting for you to arrive,
never figuring on the fact that you might not be alive.
We see a man in black getting closer to our door,and we
know this isn`t the same man that we been waiting for.
He`s here to tell us the news of the deceased,he`s here
to tell us what we expected the very least.
He` says my brother past while in his sleep.
He says my best friend died while counting sheep.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2005

Poem

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