Flock Off My Grass Poem by Jay Hall

Scram you buzzards;
be gone from here.
Your wake is unwanted;
isn't this clear?
Scavenging vultures
seeking fresh flesh.
Tearing and ripping
bones, muscle & mesh.
Eons of time
ahead of me now.
Avoid your reaping
I'll do somehow.
Fly away, fly away
into the sun.
Come round much later;
I'll nod when I'm done.
For now I'm living;
I will not soon pass.
Shoo you grim reapers;
get the Flock off my Grass.