Come morning, sweet and late;
Come as gentle fingers in the quavering, watery light,
Nursing ruinous paths etched by agony's Tears, across cheek caves
Deep in the rock recesses of Death Victorious;
Oh! Cover with skin and bone, fierce and fire, the very breath that, ragged as a dying man,
Even now breathes victorious,
Having won its lifes's retreat,
Comforted.
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