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The End

You cannot ransom mother-daughter's life
Her babe lies still, and its grave
Is the roadside
That no longer runs from your home to the sea.
Dead End. Why bother.

The snow comes more thickly
As it swirls out of spite
Falls into an empty darksome ocean
Falls on the deadly glow of the city
Covers the wounds of the world.
It buries the born in its whiteness
It beckons with cleansing coldness
Toward the furry soft night
And a clinging surrender
To the aspirant dawn.

Who shall sing
When Man is gone.

Is gone.

Robert G. Brown 2007-03-21