Page 25 - Contrast1985v27
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The man was there, at the service,
On the edge of his own crevice,
Peering down into the dark gloom,
Seeing his own approaching doom.
Frozen, completely motionless,
His face a void, expressionless.
The woman walked to a dark light
And pushed away the lingering night.
Sending it flying from the room,
Easing the likeness of a tomb.
Off, high in a church's tower,
Bells, peal, lacking any power.
Treading the steep snowy front walk,
Dreading that she might not want to talk,
He softly knocks on the oaken
Door. Inside, silence is broken.
She whirls and stares at the closed door
As he begins to knock once more.
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