Image by boris rager from Pixabay
We have all heard the tales
Of how the reaper comes
To collect the souls
From the rich men to the bums
Carrying them off
To be judged
In the Halls of Verdict
Where their fate is adjudged
But not many have heard the story
Of the one time Death was budged
From his unwavering job
Just with a little kind nudge
Of the little girl who lived to be a hundred
Because she had the gall
To give Him a most glorious blue flower
And named him Grim, best of all
The first friend he ever made
The only friend he had
He visited her every year
And was always glad, not sad
For she always gave him
One more beautiful blue flower
For him to take and add to his collection
The collection reminded him of his Emily Bower.
Comments (6)
I love the concept of thwarting death. Good for Emily...I hope she lived a happy life. If only death could grant health as well.
Another excellent dark poem
Who is his Emily Bower? Oh is she that girl that gave him the flowers?
Death needs a friend - great poem
I totally enjoyed the poem.
Gave him a flower and named him grim....WONDERFUL visual. So sweet and peaceful