As I write his name
I write it slow
For when he comes
Nobody knows
Peacefully or in pain
At whichever age
Death will remain
He always leaves a scar behind
In many people's hearts
That scar you will find
He causes rivers of tears
As his magic spreads
Making the living hurt
More than the dead
But still a message he teaches
To all the undead
Life goes on is what he says
He isn't someone to fear
Nor something to hate
He is a presence unclear
Until a soul meets his final fate
-Hana H. Barakat
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