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The Doctor
And there, helpless,
sunk in the darkness,
as shadow-cast death
cloaks the walls,
stood behind it all,
the father scarcely
notices the scattered
paper spat across the floor,
of past prescriptions or
the emptied bowls and jars...
the mother in a hallowed
nest of praying arms
finds dawn whisper in
on softening feet
whilst the doctor,
rider of the white horse,
faithful and true,
looks upon the child’s face,
pale as she slips through,
given to Sheol.
​
​
Dylan Squires
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