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Meg poem

Death

It is with gentleness Death’s fingers close…

Death

It is with gentleness Death’s fingers close
The wrinkled eyelids of the old, and veil
Their eyes grown dim and weary.
       ‘Tis with stealth
She steals upon a child, tearing him from
His mother’s heart, and leaving it to bleed.
To Age and Infancy Death is not cruel
But Youth she tortures – Youth whose heart yet bounds
With hope and courage. There is no sadder sight
Than Youth with Death’s reflection in his eyes.

Margaret Taylor

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