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I've lived here dead for decades - now you

pitch up gaily among us shades, with your

freshly dead face all lit up, beaming - but

after my long years without you, don't think

it will be easy. It's we dead who should run

whispering at the heels of the living, yet you

you'd put the frighteners on me, ruining

the remains of your looks on bewailing me

not handling your own last days with spirit.

Next you’ll expect me to take you around

introducing some starry goners. So mother

do me proud and hold your white head high.

On earth you tried, try once again in Hades.


Denise Riley

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