Cloaking darkness; run and ran,
Friend not to beast, nor to man.
Mortal enemy of immortal soul,
As you draw Audience to gaping hole.
Mercy? You have none – take what you will
From the crowds that await you beyond the Hill.
Winter’d and barren, thou hast not a friend,
And so foe shall you stay till the very end.
Mine eyes, however, cry at you not,
For they hate like the Hate of a child;
With animated anger so quickly forgot,
A harsh blizzard turning mild.
Your breath may be cold, but warmth does it bring,
As I leave my Winter to enter my Spring.
To Death
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