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Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #1603332
Death is a beggar and a chooser.
Royal, noble, pedigree renowned,
life luscious and pompous.
Hah hah! but a trudge has laced gloom to red carpets,
King Grim hunts for whats rightfully owned.

Loyal, pure, white stature well known,
life fierce and battle prone.
Hi ho! there's jet black in those ranks!
Sir Death rushes on, and reaps from the flanks.

Dismal, decaying, rats and rot,
a common friend.
Hee hee! narrow alley's dimmest,
A cloaked beggar, most rich in amends.

Nailed shut, well dug under.
Three clocks, reaped asunder.
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