The little hen whistled out hot steam
We like the sound it makes.
I can’t bring my sister’s friend back
All I can do is make her tea.
Makes the flu seem trivial.
Makes everything seem trivial.
The Grim Reaper has a VIP pass,
Priority admission wherever, whenever.
He takes your hand and smiles coyly
Where are my secret stairs now?
Where are my brightest dreams now?
My enchanted room, that sacred place
I thought I had forever and a day
To reach the stars, again kiss his face.
May death take the long way here.
May logic respect my wiser heart.
Too many deep and moving words
Of his to feel, so passionate, poignant.
This One Man writes truth and warms
Soft Italian wool wrapped around me.