A Year of Poems – Day 196

I met with death on three different streets

On the first he wore an ancient face
A kindly face worn so thin with love
stretched out by a thousand loves
Still willing to be stretched by one more.

On the second he came for a bystander
A boy I hardly knew, though he was younger,
Then he was not and the world was smaller,
vast beyond imagination.

On the third he came for thousands
I watched helpless, trapped behind glass
He was cruelest on this last street
As cruel as the day I first met him.

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