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Hymn of death

Sometimes time
do stop.
Stop and hides.
Moonlight can't reach down now,
it's to dry.
Indians are speaking
the silent language.
Hunted by demons,
owner of peace.
Can you hear
the distant music?
It's silent
but clear.
It's the hymn
of death.

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[an error occurred while processing this directive] Poetry by Kenneth Sorensen
Dikt av poeten Kenneth Sørensen