Around Here.
His battered old suit
simply his best
by not being worn
hangs on a hanger
waiting for a Sunday
or a christening or a funeral
to come ‘round
but nothing ever comes ‘round
‘round here
...only an occasional Sunday
or the funeral
that is your own
your last chance
to wear your best
now that Eternity
tired of all that time
settles into
your death
like a well worn
suit of clothes
and the occasional Sundays
go on & on
without you.
Yep, nothing happens much
‘round here
‘cept Death
and Life is glad
of the rest.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.