The Grim Reaper
If you must come, as come you must,
Don’t come in winter and awake
The fat cat dozing by the fire.
And don’t appear in fertile spring
When birds begin to sing of love
Above new shoots of verdant grass.
Summer’s not the time to call
And is the least good time of all,
When nights are light, and loved ones
Bright with hope, can’t cope with death.
Autumn might just be OK,
Unless I’m feeling fine and well
Then it would be capricious
And suspicious if you call
When all of life’s still full of fun.
So, when all is said, and all is done,
Perhaps it’s best you do not come,
At least for many seasons still,
Until my will to live is spent
And I can welcome you with love.
© James Rainsford 2013
Note to readers: As age increases, so too, do thoughts of my own mortality.
Your views are always welcome and I'll respond to all who vist here and leave a comment. Kind regards, James.