Your Bestowment

I like to write about the light.

And make you feel alright.

But then the darkness takes my breath.

And I get angry and my writing pokes a stick at death.

You see I have no fear of that pretender.

If death appears at least be tender.

If it’s unavoidable.

I’m ready and able to be voidable.

You see there is not a thing I can do,

If the grim reaper says, peek-a-boo, I see you.

Just be quick, you know I hate to be late.

And I hate to wait or delay fate.

But please forgive me for just one moment.

While I hack your bestowment.



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