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.
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