Death’s Escort




Death’s Escort


I  know that life is very short

And most of it is death’s escort

And the joy that you report

Will very suddenly abort


The pot-holed road will give you jolts

The jalopied car breaks, revolts

The wheels run off like brash young colts

The beaten cart just summersaults


The mechanics are on holiday

The medics in their white display

And glaring knives in fine array

Will mold and shape you just like clay


The alcohol will burn with joy

But the seething water won’t destroy

Microbes as they sneak, deploy

Throughout your whole house of Troy


The bandages will bind you tight

And shut-out light like blackest night

Staunch not blood but breathing’s fight

You beg for air contrite, polite


And soon your mummied for a tomb

Helpless as in Mother’s womb

The death and doom are in full bloom

Smell the sweet, palsied perfume


Copyright, David Gottfried, 2006



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