Behold thee, motionless, still.
As thou awaits thy requiem high mass,
Which the day thou seek the face of thy creator.
I passed, stared, at thy lifeless
Departed to thy grave.
A menace it was,
Snatching thee from thy loved.
I wept, while gazing at thee lifeless.
A Taste Of Loss
Victor Ekwueme
(C) All Rights Reserved. Poem Submitted on 05/22/2020
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Poem topics: face, grave, high, Valentine's Day, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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