richard (sean) scarbrough (james)
A Poet In Heaven
I think that when I die, I shall many poets get to see,
Wether it is Poe, or Dickens, Frost, or even Emily.
We'll all shake hands and give each our names,
But what won't matter will be our amount of Fame.
There will be things to write with, pencil or computer,
Plenty of paper, stone but I can't fathom pewter.
The sun will always be shiny except for maybe Poe,
He might prefer a gloomy day I really don't know.