Epitaph
By Kris Elensar
- 182 reads
Count your scallywag bristles,
Go down with a murderous ho!
And when the Ferryman whistles,
Have your breeches ready to go.
Prepare for the death of a century,
A life worth living once more,
One with the rogues and the Gentry,
A gambler thereafter no more.
In a feathery place he shall settle,
Worry ye not for his soul,
But remember him true to his mettle,
And placeth him not in a hole,
Rather bless the wind with his ashes
And the ocean top with his glow,
So that each new breaker that crashes,
Brings a little fragment 'pon shore.
And when on the sand he's assembled,
A congregation of him and his thoughts,
Remember that he never trembled,
'Pon thought of his zest as it rots,
And to the very last he was merry!
His demeanour but second to joy,
So when earnest docketh the ferry,
He said 'Death! You're a sight, my boy!'
And he scaled with Death the horizon,
Like a candle went out in a swish,
Knowing 'ny moment one dies in,
Another one's making a wish.
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Comments
some great imagery in this
some great imagery in this piece
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