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The Unknown Hour

 

With his long bony finger

Pointing at me,

Death said,

”I’ve come for thee.

Do not bother

To plead, to cry,”

Death said coldly

With a harsh sigh.

“Man knows not

The hour nor the day,

That I will be walking

Towards his way,

At this moment

Even as we speak,

There is one unaware

Next it shall be him I seek.”

 

Poem copyrighted © 2004 by Lydia Warner Miller

Web site copyrighted © 2005 by Lydia Warner Miller