Thrice knocks the herald

Thrice knocks the empty one
upon the grieving door;
Thrice sobs the lonely one
having lost whom they adore

a sign for sure to tell you true
that love has passed to light;
a salve to heal through and through
to hold your dearest tight

ne’er move to answer hollow call
stay put, resist the beckoning;
or cursed you’ll be and held in thrall
as herald becomes your reckoning

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