The Stalker

The rain comes down and goes deep into the ground.
 Cold winds blow over the graves of the dead,
 While they lie silent in their beds.
 Perhaps they have it better than I 
For they cannot cry.
 No one knows and no one can say 
What life holds in a day.
 Death is a silent monster who stalks waiting for
 The last day to see what I will say.

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