'The Grim Reaper' Poem by Linda Winchell

My name is the, 'Grim Reaper'
I carry a cycle in my hand!
to cut aways the cob webs of time
as I visit death on this land.

To take each because
their numbers now up!
To a place God has prepared
at His table to sup!

I don't know why
you wish to call me Grim?
I am only sent by God my Father
to do this dreaded job, caused from sin!

Grim is not, what I should be called
an Angel of those sleeping
that's it, that's really all!

Don't fear what, you will all have to do
I will be coming one day
one day, I'll be visiting you!