Could you perhaps lend me an ending for this poem?

  • Thread starter Thread starter Mixtli
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Mixtli

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The Beast

The beast lay docile, dormant,
Almost in a state of hibernation,
Preparing for the winter of life—

The daily chore of feeding receding
With every passing night;

I need not worry, wander,
For greener . . . pastures are within my flight.

The beast forgotten, rotten,
Almost in a state of total decay,
Prepares for the “after” of life—

The daily book, that’s needing a reading,
Never gets shown the light.

I no need wander, worry,
Nor hurry . . . mountains are within my sight.

The beast awakens, shaken,
Almost in a state of celebration
Prepares for the . . .
 
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