He Died Poem by obinna tochi
He Died
Oh! He kicked the bucket,
Of course not by the musket,
In a place at the market,
At the cold hands of a machete.
He came to evil
In that place of evil,
Brought there by a weevil,
Quieted by the hands of evil.
Quite a gallery of pity,
He lived a life out of party,
In the glorious cage of aunty…
But still died before a party.
Monday, November 14, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: lamentation
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4/29/2024 10:58:17 PM # 1.0.0.1119
