Haunted Plays I watch the one who haunts my soul, Taken with the trance of all. Crimson rain drops quietly, Dancing with no sign of glee. He stays away atop a bridge, Watches the blood go- drip, drip, drip. He sees no joy in childhood days, Just waits for us to sing our plays. Our plays repeat our hate and sorrow, Like a crow he waits for the reaper's morrow. He stops our dance- the candle light, No hush... Just the death of night.
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