The Sunken

There is death that puts end to all means,

whether glaring in the sky, the light shuns,

first the mountains, then the meadows and finally the sea,

it comes over in like a rush for the Violin,

that puts up dumb charade to singing,

The rain emotes all the feelings as if sunken in black,

the  death is awakening to sing the cheers of men,

there is no more life remaining but the ghost of one

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