Noblesse Oblige
by Timothy Reed
the cold, crisp night is an old foe
that presses and presses
as dying men see life in stark relief
the stars come into focus
he has hacked the moon to a steel sliver
but his blade has not yet touched our veins
imminent
the final meal
the final rites
the final requests
before the final breath
there is an autumnal noblesse oblige to it
as he grants color to each leaf
'ere it is cast to a common grave
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