A Vest To My Funeral Poem by binti laye

A Vest To My Funeral



If I had a golden crest
Would I lay it on your breast
Would rather dash it to a pest
For you have been cursed by the priest

All I thought was wealth
You rubbed with dearth
For now I wait at Perth
For no other than death
And for that I curse my birth

Broken forever is our bond
The pain will always pound
And the truth a pack of hounds
Like a defeaning sound
Harped by a dead band

Had all your deeds been right
Would you have offered to write
Unto me, for now, all is right
And my life, I will to a wright

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