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Laconic Lament

The daemon comes in varied shapes and forms
 but knows a kinship to his brethren race
and thus on hapless souls poor fortune swarms,
 one devil down, a worse one takes his place.
She was a childhood friend, a joyous source,
 but time and distance cut, we did not cross;
nostalgia not the only driving force,
 she always shone without the need for gloss.
I have old news, I do not know purport,
 the lungs, they had not taken final breath
the body lingered on by life support,
 one ray of hope in grief, it was not death.
  She suffered stroke, that dreadful malady,
  that damns the victim, friends, and family.
Written by Sonneteer (Lewis Robinson)
Published
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