“In the midst of life we are in death.”

The angels wonder why

mankind hangs on to pointless breath

refusing just to die.

Three score and ten, is but hors d’oeuvre

we take another bite.

Spare parts fitted with such verve

fend off that final night.

The reaper stamps a tapered toe

his whetstone rasps an oath.

Sickly, and senile, came when d...

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