Poems

A Question

I asked if i got sick and died, would you

With my black funeral go, walking too,

If you'd stand close to hear them talk or pray

While I'm let down in that steep bank of clay.

And, No, you said, for if you saw a crew

Of living idiots pressing round that new

Oak coffin - they alive, I dead beneath

That board - you'd rave and rend them with your teeth.