That when you’re dead
The pulse in your head
Lies still like lead.
Be
you well-fed
Or
starved on your bed,Happily wed
Or in a hermit shed,
Blood
then red,
Which
once had bled,Now ceased its tread,
Sinks black instead,
And
when soul has fled
In
a sweat of dread,By angels led
To the Judge and life’s Bread,
All
pleading pled
And
sentence read,The sins it bred
From A to Z,
It
will hear it said
That
dead is deadAnd flung from the Head
You must lie in lead.
====================
©
April 2015