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My Danse Macabre

As the chapel's chime tower on the hill strikes now twelve
And the moon's mist dives deep into the dell and does dwell

An unworldy tone rises up from the depths down below
It is He, tuning string and striking resin to his bow

He is the first to awaken, stretch out arms and make sound
And he plays as he passes and begins to make rounds

Delivering tidings of joy where was thought there was none

Reviving that which was over, unmoved, thought undone
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Lylyanna Pilewski 15 August 2005

I LOVE this one. Not opnly because I play the violin but it really just sings to me. Awesomely done! Lylyanna

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Tears In Rain 10 August 2005

Thanks, I'm glad Somebody noticed this one. It's really a fave of mine, but lost like tears in rain.

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