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Poetry from within
   

Bad news I'm afraid

Quatrains


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