A Guest Poem by Ambrose Bierce

Death, are you well? I trust you have no cough
That's painful or in any way annoying
No kidney trouble that may carry you off,
Or heart disease to keep you from enjoying
Your meals-and ours. 'T were very sad indeed
To have to quit the busy life you lead.

You've been quite active lately for so old
A person, and not very strong-appearing.
I'm apprehensive, somehow, that my bold,
Bad brother gave you trouble in the spearing.
And my two friends-I fear, sir, that you ran
Quite hard for them, especially the man.

I crave your pardon: 'twas no fault of mine;
If you are overworked I'm sorry, very.
Come in, old man, and have a glass of wine.
What shall it be-Marsala, Port or Sherry?
What! just a mug of blood? That's funny grog
To ask a friend for, eh? Well, take it, hog!