Stings of Death
Quicker than a peep of life, death lobs in the street-
Of life, to cease cuteness with alarming sobs.
As pigs rootle for truffles, so it's courier prowls to -
Sting aged - rich and poor, even infants fostering,
Amidst all our pleasures, our best men it jabs
In the crypts their bones in sullen hills it slabs
In depth or vlei, it sadly trails without heaving -
In drab faded curtains of despair howled, clanging
None ever got used to its sternly - callous stabs
Yet conjurers mourn upshots of it's dismaying jabs
"It's too early Death, why pierce us without warning"
There may shudder, but hope will affirm revering,
To a divine home where life is lived on the hog
Where spasms of loss will shutter, O' poor death nabbed.
Copyright © Nash Maramba | Year Posted 2019
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