Almost An Epitaph 7 Poem by Morgan Michaels
Almost An Epitaph 7
Battling so hard for Jeff
Aching and exhausted, Death
Sat on a rock, and, out of breath,
Mopped his face with a handkerchief
Before he tossed the battered corse
Resplendent, o'er his boney horse.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Topic(s) of this poem: horse
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8/28/2026 9:04:37 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
