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The Harvestor From the throne of his creator On the pinion of the wind, Like a ravaging marauder Comes the harvestor assigned By the great celestial power To pluck from the crowded earth Those who lived their given hours And alive lacked future worth. Only seen by those selected From his ever changing scroll To be killed then resurrected, Each according tho his soul, Going to a destination, Where no mortal could fortell, To their God and their salvation Or the blazing pits of hell. Wanders he along the highways Of the swiftly spinning world, Over boulevards and byways His black banner is unfurled, Making all who see it quiver Conscious of a nameless fear, And they start to sweat and shiver For they know that death prowls near. On a sea beach bleak and narrow, Partly covered by the sand, Lies the body of a sparrow That had brushed against his hand, As he sallied unrelenting On his calculated flight, Leaving countless souls lamenting In the stillness of the night.
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