The night was dark, the wind was chill, And everywhere the children looked the people were all ill.
Slowly, softly ,creeping, crawling, Death had come down from the hill.
The children cried, the people died And no one was left standing.
The plague of life had swept away All that we came to love by day.
For us to think in ignorance, That which we can not have in bliss,
That one small thing, Life’s unkind deed,
© Copyright 2016 ShallowLeaf. All rights reserved.
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