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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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