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Poetry from within

Bad news I'm afraid


He's shuffled off this mortal coil

Gone to a better place

Pushing up daisies in a field

Gone with pomp and grace

Negatively living

He exists in a past tense

Gone to meet his maker

Will not be coming hence

No longer using oxygen

Of food he's gone right off

Walking with his ancestors

His heart has had enough

If he was dying by degrees,

Full circle he has reached

His bucket well and truly kicked

His whale of life, beached

If you want my real opinion

If you truly want it said

I'll break it to you gently

I'm afraid I think he's dead!

Mark Rand