220 -Dead Flies

Poem number 220
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Dead Flies
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The famous people drop like flies. Another day, another dies
Those people that we’ve never met or even spoken to and yet
We mourn their loss as if our own, another death – another groan
But is the loss we feel for they – those stars that someone took away –
Or are our tears another part of something always in our heart:
The knowledge that our time moves on, and in the end we’ll all be gone
(Nomatter just how bright the sun, it still gets doused when day is done)
So when we see the famous die it tolls the bell for you and I
Another day, another groan. We feel their loss, but mourn our own.

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