Death’s March

Death stalks,

As we balk,

Turning away from the sight.

The Reapers breath,

Reeks of death,

Lo what a terrible fright!

We explore,

Never more,

The streets are a parade of gloom.

As the weeds,

Grow and feed,

On land where the flowers once bloomed.

Now thunder,

Tears asunder,

Our sky, oh so blackened and gray.

Mothers weep,

Their tears seep,

Into ground that had once borne us clay.

Plague has come,

Sound the drum,

Our judgement is coming up fast.

Hope and pray,

Every day,

That your next breath won’t be your last.

Ah it’s near!

The Reaper is here!

Our souls will at last be at ease.

For in other realms,

Under branches of Elm,

Our spirits will do as they please!

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