Lamenting all the victims of plague.
Those who could not own their sorrow
For the time and place belongs in nightmares. History: history reeks of seclusion for the dying. Tomorrow heads bowed over hickory, empty hands. Farewells suspended in the dusty silence, Glitter in the morning rays of sunshine. There are so many words for disease, Between your frozen blue lips I heard The whisper of conspiracy escaping, Could only hold onto your echo with your last breath.