Death-Loss
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Heard of him we have
One form or another
Not yet?, a promise in waiting
Now more than ever, counting in the thousands
An angel to a few
The devil to most
It plucks the loved ones at will
It pardons not the cherished
Nor does it spare the young
A fondness for the old
All races entertained
Wealthy or poor alike, an audience it offers
Discrimination is absent in langue
Possess it does, icy cold hands at best
It grabs at will, robs day or night
It fears not the mob
Grab in troves at will; if implored by the mass shooter, the impaired driver, the irate forest fire, the natural disaster, unbridled infections, just a few to name
Bold it is, some balls it has
Timid not I grant
A few can see it coming
Others barely aware, till their name is pulled, from the lottery basket of life
As such timely for some, untimely for most
Either way is a loss, too painful to bear
Attempt to hinder the inexorable encounter, we strive each day anew
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