Dressed in black

Dressed in black

Throughout the tread of ages,
the throngs have gathered sure,
of women dressed in black;
of mourning’s endless haul.
This cavalacade of sorrow,
has threaded through the years,
and shadowed every century
in shawled and awful fears.
In keening, strangled grieving
the voice of death has cried,
and drawn from lack of colour,
the pain of hearts betrayed.
From ashen fields of fabric,
the reaper slowly smiles,
and tweaks the hem of sorrow
to honour long-lost souls.

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About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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