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For whom does the death rattle whisper
on this windless, snowy night?
The old man sitting by the fire, listening
to his loving wife, wordlessly wishing;
yearning for more time within this life.

His blue eyes flicked in the fire's light
fixated on his joyous love
who's black hair blended along with night
and silver streak fallen over her eye,
never able to stay above.

As the rattle grew into a shutter,
the smoke plumed upward to the sky.
The fire crackled, and popped, and sputtered.
Watering, his blue eyes said goodbye.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

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