Justified Poem by Clive Blake

A teenage pessimist lived,
With a fear and a dread,
That one day he'd awake,
And find himself dead,
He lived his life under,
This cloud and this gloom,
Lived a reclusive existence,
In a dark windowless room,
Others thought he was strange,
But his fears were justified,
For he had premonitions and dreams,
In which he had indeed died,
Then one day he became so,
Very seriously ill
His fever too strong to be cured,
By a mere potion or pill,
At Death's door he struggled to cling on,
To the things that he knew,
But his doctor somehow managed,
To help pull him through,
So his predictions and fears,
Had indeed now come true,
For he had sadly died at the age,
Of one hundred and two.