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Softly treads the reaper

I read one of her poems and then another

And another. Turning to her photo I looked

Into her eyes and in there I saw the pain so

Evident in her writing. She wrote of loss and

Anguish with a suffering pen, elegant words

That took me by surprise for upon closing

My eyes, I fancied I could taste her tears

Hear her sobbing


I write mostly about love preferring to leave

Loss for another time. I have not been as

Brave as my new found poetess but soon

Loss will visit me too, in about three months

Time I believe. Bad enough, but death will

Not be done with me for waiting in the wings

Another loss waits its turn to call


Softly treads the reaper, no word, no sign

No sound. It's only when you get the news

Do you know that he's around


Yes, I hid from loss, but its woeful light has

Found me out. Nothing has happened yet

Save for the awful diagnosis but already

People are preparing themselves. You can

Can hear a pin drop where once there was

Laughter and music. People in thought

Outnumber people in voice. Silence prevails

Interrupted only by the wisdom of a sage

Proclaiming 'it is what it is' whilst in contrast

Hearts hoping for a last minute reprieve

Refuse to embrace the day and the hour to

Come. As I write voices nearby tell of

'Getting used to it and carrying on.' Easier

Said than done


So much sadness to come, so many hearts

To heal. I'm going now to read more of her

Poetry. No, not because I'm maudlin, because

I'm not alone – I've seen it in her eyes and

Therein I found strength

© Joseph G Dawson
14/04/2018 – 15/07/2017


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