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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=420189" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Angel of Death</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=420189" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">An Angel without pity, <br>No conscience ridden whore, <br>She haunts the field of battle.<br>She’s seen the cost of war.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=420189" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">In the faces of the dying<br>She’s reflected in their eyes.<br>She coming to collect their souls, <br>Not listen to their sighs.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=420189" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">She clearly fascinates them<br>As they gurgle blood and die.<br>They find her mesmerizing<br>Like the hunting cobra’s eyes.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=420189" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">To the dying she‘s a beauty<br>unlike any seen before.<br>Still they’d rather be in Paris, <br>Smoking Gitaines with some whore.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=John+F.+McCullagh">John F. McCullagh</a></strong></div>

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