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Fear, like a living fire that only death Might one day cool, had now in Avon's eyes Been witness for so long of an invasion That made of a gay friend whom we had known Almost a memory, wore no other name As yet for us than fear. Another man Than Avon might have given to us at least A futile opportunity for words We might regret. But Avon, since it happened, Fed with his unrevealing reticence The fire of death we saw that horribly