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[ Man and Sin ] - a poem


HORUS

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They stood against the bold facade

Of shops now cold and faded,

Awaiting the approaching

Of a tattered man, encroaching.

 

In light of each tall lamp they caught

Short glimpses of his visage

That faded in a soft, weak gale

To silver dust so pale.

 

And flickering in dismal light

Did these poor men then welcome,

This man comprised of foulest sin

From separate worlds within.

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