I have seen alluring women in white
Anfractuous gowns, billowing on bridges in the breeze,
Standing stark against the night,
And I was afraid. Afraid of these.

Ever our obtuse disquietude of death
Has filled our mind like a crack, and in return,
In ignorance we have stained it black,
A symbol of our pitiful and vacuous lack
Of comprehension.

But would they witness what I have seen,
Deep within improbable realities of dream,
Death is not black, nor darkness, or night,
Death is women with eyes blue bright,
Standing on bridges
Dressed in white.

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