Reaper Comes a Calling
It was nigh on to St. Crispin's day
But I found no solace there.
The night curdled with discontentment
As a vile expectation filled the air.
Death himself appeared at my door...
His heinous purpose not yet clear.
It ripped me to the very core...
It tasked my soul with fear.
'Forgive this late intrusion.'
It offered in a throated baritone.
"I am due this night to reap a soul...
But your neighbor's not at home.'
With a firm grip on my mortality...
I could think of nothing more.
I called out towards my husband...
'Honey... you're wanted at the door.'
The End
Copyright © David Mchattie | Year Posted 2023
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment