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When the Clock Struck the Hour

Alone in his bed, he heard the people
soft spoken whispers tracked the time.
All in a line we ventured to the steeple.
The passing of years eight on dime.

Cold and frail, leads up to the hour.
Encased in fear he counted and cursed;
His outlook was grim and soon became dour.
To weak to be nursed.
 






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