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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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