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Mother And Son

Rating: 3.0

Now all day long the man who is not dead
Hastens the dark with inattentive eyes,
The woman with white hand and erect head
Stares at the covers, leans for the son's replies
At last to her importunate womanhood-
Her hand of death laid on the living bed;
So lives the fierce compositor of blood.

She waits; he lies upon the bed of sin
Where greed, avarice, anger writhed and slept

Till to their silence they were gathered in:
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
James brown 10 May 2018

whats this poem about

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Ratnakar Mandlik 19 November 2016

So lives the fierce compositor of blood Thanks for sharing it here.

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