A Poem Just For You

Poem By Clarence Thomas

The Shade's hand beckons,
'Tis time enow for me,
With truths and deeds unreckoned:
To delay the tryst.
Wrought the willow-wisp
Fleeting with grace,
Fate calls the tryst
All men must face.
Being was bold and quick;
To live his fill,
Who knew where to pick?
Who had the will?
I need not mourn
For my child.
Life will be bourne
For him, yet a while.
All was writ before
Man had tapped the till.
Angels guard the door,
'Til he pays the bill.
Tell the determined Shade,
I'll come when my dues are paid.

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