The Row
Death is toldFrom the eye of the beholder
Omnipresent
The grasp of breath
Cold and hazy
Sight becomes blurred
Goodbye
Cruel world
The Row
Death is toldA poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
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