© Akinwale Peace
These days
These days when life is rare:
This days when death is ev'ry where,
These days when souls mourn;
These days when souls die the more,
These days when death wants more.
These days it does baffle me:
When death will smile at it' mean
And strike them in their pleas, it
smiles as they all cry, in it
doth he rejoice in joyful anxiety.
When the morning dew comes: it goes with a soul;
When the sun stands on the sea, it sleeps with a soul,
Oh; when will all this end? These days when death
smile and nev'r cry, these days when hot hell' breath
calls more to eternal rest, when will death itself rest?
"words from the innocent mind"
Philip Peace
© Great Intellects'
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