| (Alternately titled 'The Result of a Goth Getting Whimsical in Poetry Class')
I am the last reward of rolling time
The sundown at the final end of day
The shudd'ring millions see my shadowed home
And, save my chosen children, shrink away
Yet all these millions must, in due time, tread
A path to my dark homeland's shadowed bourne
Time weighs, at last, too heavy for their heads
They come to me, leaving their kin to mourn
Some others do their most to turn from me
For reasons beside their instinctive fear
Some are too proud, some others hope to see
Dreams launched, worlds opened with each passing year
Some unexpecting, some in hate of life
Some too young, some others elderly
Daughter, brother, husband, father, son, wife,
At living's end, they all must come to me
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