Saturday, 4 February 2012

Friendly Death

I chatted with death once
He was standing around
Grim and blunt
Very to the point
With his scythe sticking out
As he just turned about
Not a smile in sight
On Death's high cheek bones
He nods then drones
In'a grim, grim, mode
As Death, indeed is
Very like
"How are you?
Feeling unwell?"
"Not quite..."
I replied
"No sounds of bells?"
"Indeed not"
"Ah" he muttered
"One can always hope for the suffered"
And off with a swoof
His black cape spinning
He disappeared in a poof
Dear friend Death
Never ever grinning

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