Sonnet on Death’s weakness

Death is always but a moment away,

His hunger for life is dark, without end,

He steals souls for sport, and holds breath in sway,

Wanting in humour, his rules never bend,

Only the blush of a maiden in Spring,

Touches those features, to conjure a smile,

Whispers and secrets, they draw in and cling,

And he cloaks his horror to woo her a while,

Beauty and innocence, they do make him weak,

Finding his flaw in the glint of her eye,

But reason will come, and vengeance he’ll seek,

On her pretty dead head, he’ll sit and he’ll cry,

For while Death’s a fool for silly young maids,

Eternity’s long and all beauty fades.

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