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Each Obituary I Read is Mine
a curtal sonnet
Each obituary I read is mine;
husband, wife, son and daughter abide where
the records of their lives do still exist;
motality belongs to time's design,
stitching out each minute without prayer,
and you are simply helpless to resist
the imagination of the Weavers~
when will Atropos become the slayer,
and with her sharpened scissors give a twist,
putting all your plans to naught as reavers
take your soul for grist?
Copyright ©
Chetta Achara
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