R.L Stein #poem Of Terror Cold was the night, the air had a fright. As they stagger by, being devoured by a fly. A never ending thirst, they say the bites are the worst. This rotting corpse is a demon's morphs. Is this what God calls a joke? Us poor falling folks? Why are we so shy, now that it's our time to die. The world must come to an end. For we have so little time to spend.
Respect!
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