Insensitive Grim Reaper
We were in at the kill
When he took ill
We gave him every pill
But his body grew cold and still
Caught in a strange chill
We put death through the mill
But in vain were all our grills
And all our prayer drills
Gone with all his learning and skills
Leaving behind no Will but only frills
With lots of unpaid bills
Death considers not our earthly thrills
Copyright © Olugbenga Hodonu | Year Posted 2015
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