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Death’s Waylaying not the sharpest

Death’s Waylaying not the sharpest
Of the thefts of Time
There Marauds a sorer Robber,
Silence is his name
No Assault, nor any Menace
Doth betoken him.
But from Life’s consummate Cluster
He supplants the Balm.

Poem Death’s Waylaying not the sharpest - Emily Dickinson
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