Death takes her hand and leads her through the waste
Of her own soul, wherein she hears the voice
Of lost Love's tears, and, famishing, can but taste
The dead-sea fruit of Life's remembered joys.
Sorrow. A Quatrain.
Madison Julius Cawein
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Poem topics: death, life, lost, sea, voice, soul, fruit, taste, waste, love, I love you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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