Raging red against dour death-sky
Leaves turn unwilling towards the inevitable; stuck hard and fast, they cling stubbornly
Against their fate-- Envying the springtime birth that
Raises its curled fronds of fresh green towards the cycle;
Pregnant in the midst of such death, finality.

The nature of women's sighs, hushed and whispering
Breed flowering eulogies and confessions of death
Which, faced sober against cross and stone, slowly turn skeleton keys
To lay waste to already soul-less flesh.
As the body lulls its head in respect to the final sleep,
Hushed stone watches with uncaring angel eyes;
Blind worms breathe silent in hungry reverie
And eternity cries softly into the crowd of spirits.

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