Bring Out Your Dead Poem by James Reed
Bring Out Your Dead
Sick with fever
Dreaming death
I come closer with every breath
Coughing red
I lament
Cursed plague, my life's now spent
Eyes are streaming
Chest is full
I can feel the Reaper's pull
The collectors call
'Bring out your dead! '
Pass me by, I'm not ready yet
One more breath
One more day
Oh Lord save me from the grave!
But the sores still weep
Yet I smile
Over here, one more for the pile
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10/4/2024 7:27:32 AM # 1.0.0.1119
