Do not feel that you must pretend to fear
What your sore, tired heart secretly wants
You summoned me, to come and meet you here
I suffered many merciless, loud taunts
From all the bitter, disenchanted dead
When I respond to entreaties like yours
When your soul shrivels and I fill your head
With music sweeter than your thankless chores
They mock my tender hearted sympathy
For they dwell with me now, and know the truth:
They labor still, but now, they work for me
The underworld needs cleaning, like a tooth
Your toil on earth is over, rest assured
But your dreams of idleness are absurd!
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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