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by John Stocks

Death came odourless
A fleeting synthesis
I heard the euphemism
‘He’s passed away’
It seemed a glib diminution.

Outside, killer frosts
Withering flowers
And warm voices floating
Like imagined souls
The oozing of lives.

And I thought of the antelope
Calm now at the end of the chase
In grace sensually bowing
In awe to the predator
As if restrained by higher force
Perhaps, and only perhaps
Welcoming infinity’s cool embrace?

Copyright © 2008 by John Stocks

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