Not So Grim
I've heard of a man who harvests life
Swathed in dark, he reaps with scythes
I have no fear of mortal men
But, talks of Grim will tremble hands
Shopping in skirmishes, one-by-one
He assigns a number, one to come
Late last night he came to me
And whispered, "6-11-23."
poem by Chancellor Nelson
Added by Poetry Lover
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