Wanderer, death is at the door.
Everyday I breathe, because breath is in my nostrils.
Everyday I spin along with the earth's rolling frills.
Yesterday, today and tomorrow's game
All so different but much the same.
The path leads to Nod,
All for ignorance I follow the path Cain trod.
Seeing that life is as long as as soon as we die
I wander in Nod like a bird with nowhere to fly.
The Horizon is empty,
Time rolls by and I know not if my patience waits or wastes my piety
For everyday the clouds climb past the moor,
Sometimes laughing, others solemnly saying: 'Death is at the door'.
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Comments about this poem (Wanderer, death is at the door. by Oke Christopher )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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