Nick Hilton

Rookie (London)

The Temperature Of Sin - Poem by Nick Hilton

Left alone on his plain death bed,
With the last bit of mouldy bread,
Regarding poverty with the keenest eye,
And knowing that he soon would die,
God would take him in he knew,
Up to heaven in a Cadillac its true,
To the lofty shores,
Of heaven with is pearl front doors,
And left alone on the cloudy wisps,
Felt lonely and forsaken,
And when Jesus Christ returned,
The pearly gates had been taken.


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, October 4, 2005



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