Zita Consani
When Death Calls
When Death calls
at the casements of this mortal home,
He’ll not scythe my soul
into the black unknown;
No!
With
feathered feet and honey-breath
Will
dance my lucent Lord of Death,
Aaah!
In
bright and velvet arms
I’ll
breathe,
Here
you are - my Prince –
At
last.
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