That's what they said--
in whispers, they spoke-- soft, and low
Hearing their voices inside my head
unable to see their bodies--
their voices are all that I know
My concern remains clear
though my fear becomes fed and continues to grow
the more they draw near-- I'm sure it must show
'We're coming for you! ', they speak in my ear
as I lie in my bed-- their words are deliberately slow
It's their voices I hear-- whether living or dead--
they don't know the meaning of 'NO! '
Oh, the choices I dread-- dare I tread where I'm led?
Do I stay here instead? I worry-- are they friend or foe?
And if they do come here with arms open wide--
do I go out to greet them-- or cower inside...
Will I tremble with fear
from the top of my head to the tip of my toe?
Will I hold back the tears that have started to flow?
If they do come here... Will I run and hide--
or, wearing the sweater I needed to sew,
do I finally decide to swallow my pride
and follow them home
when they go....
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