Runic: Caoimhe's Tales and Poems

A collection of original poems and stories


4. Death

Death a little gipsy not caring where it goes

Skips about from house to house dancing to and fro


Its dark hood hides a shallow face with hollow eyes and sunken cheek

Pain is written across is forehead and a promise of relief

It’s crooked staff to see the weary souls on their way to destiny


But oh death longs for the days when he will get to sleep

When he has no more pick up and lead and lead and lead


As he guides a little boy a mom or perhaps a dad he gazes up into the sky

Waiting, longing, aching for his heart to be made glad


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