Before Death was Death Death
Didn't ride a bone horse or
Carry a scythe. Instead there was
A ragged old woman who did the job
When she found time for it, stuffing souls
Into a patched coarse-woven sack.
Sometimes, she begged or told stories
To unseen audiences. In season
She'd pick hops or beans from dawn
To dusk; no one could die then until the moon
And stars showed themselves plain in the sky.
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