I sat beside Death on the bus today.
He seemed friendly enough, for a stranger,
But appeared rather busy.
On his lap, a New York Times
And in his ear, a blue tooth.
He wore a yellow scarf,
Knitted for him by a friend.
And lackadaisically sipped coffee,
From a cup that had no end.
He appeared not quite impatient,
But hurried nonetheless.
For as sure as life keeps going,
So continues death.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I liked your poem, keep writing