unsolicited

Death was in a tearing hurry

His forehead sewn with lines of worry

His chest made a fearful gasping sound

As his feet sprinted above the ground

So I stopped him quick and gently said

Who is the poor sod s’pposed to be dead?

The Reaper caught his breath, exhaled

But then his sweaty red face paled

His eyes didn’t meet mine as he replied

Woe, you’re the one who has died.

ram cobain

(Pic courtesy Google)