O majestic death,
Rattling around in my bedsprings
Like an old man’s cough,
You are too easy and obvious
For poetry.
O mercurial love,
Rising in my chest
Like opening night stage fright,
You are too easy and obvious
For poetry.
Yet somehow,
After all this writing,
Death is,
Still profound,
Love is,
Still precious.
~ Russ Allison Loar
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