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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 notThe hour nor the day, That I will be walkingTowards 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 |