Death trusted me;
I don’t know why.
Maybe he liked my poetry.
He stands 6 foot 6, 165 pounds
Like a wire figure, but after
He shook my hand I knew,
Not wire, but steel cable.
Over time we talked.
“I don’t feel well.”
Could death be sick?
“What do you mean?”
“I have no energy – no life force.”
He must be kidding?
“What’s wrong?”
“I feel like sleeping for a century.”
“So why don’t you?”
“Are you kidding?
I have responsibilities.”
“How can I help?”
“I’ll take a nap. Wake me
When things get bad.”
“Sure!”
He closed his eyes.
I had no intention of waking him;
I could save millions…
My scheme died
When I saw babies
Too weak to cry;
I woke him.
He rubbed his face,
Stood wobbly and then straight,
Looked me in the eye.
“Did you miss me?”
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