P O E T R Y
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Happiness Is -
When You Are On Your death-bed.
Exhausted, Thirsty, So weak,
You Can't Lift Your Hand,
What To Speak Of,
The Glass Of Water,
That Is Beside The Bed-side!
You Can But Move Your Pupils,
About And Around, Here And There,
And Then You Hear The Foot-steps,
Of The Nurse, At The Door.
She Comes, You Open Your Mouth,
Somehow Manage To Utter -
"Water" - In A Feeble Tone,
Without Looking At You,
She Gets At The Glass of Water,
Pours Slowly, A few Gulps,
In Your Open Parched Throat,
Great Peace Has Entered Your Heart,
And Though You Close Your Eyes,
You See With Your Closed Eyes,
Her, Pulling Over The Blanket,
Upon Your Face, Closing Her Eyes,
And Making A Cross, Over Her Chest!
Amen!
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