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Cyrus Ingole
Poems
Aug 16
His last breath
Lying on a bed,
His body went cold,
He was very old.
Body froze,
Soul rose.
Wet cloth on his forehead,
His body drained all his sweat.
His visions wail,
And his body went pale.
The hall was in death,
As he took his last breath
Alas he was dead
My first poem
#death
#deathbed
#dark
Written by
Cyrus Ingole
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