When the reaper comes a calling,
This solemn wraith covertly crawling,
Into darkness you start falling.
Falling for evermore.

A righteous life without a sin,
Now like butter life’s spread thin,
A letter to your next of kin.
As death knocks at the door

You gaze upon his evil eyes,
His skull like face that never cries,
No sadness as your loved one dies.
No feeling of rapport.

He offers out his bony hand,
Life filters through like grains of sand,
My friend your death was never planned.
My tears of sorrow pour.

By Daniel Richard Worley