By Kellyanne Lynch
The twig that holds my life o'er death
It snaps beneath my weight
And downward do I tumble now
I slip and meet my fate
Descent is slow and somewhat sweet
I plunge into death's sea
Cold currents wrap around my life
And they envelope me
Suppose I could my life save now
Or cry of help could make
But I allow myself to drown
And do my exit take
Death's grasp is as a leather glove
Much sweeter than the touch of love
- 4/23/98
(published in the University of South Carolina's literary magazine,
Garnet and Black)
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