The End

several days ago I said

to my only friend

what we have here on this day

is the sorrowed End

the flies are on the windowsill

the kettle's on to boil

the post won't come on Sabbath day

but the dog is lying loyal

your eyes, my friend, are staring so

return them on their way

your lashes flick, your brow is bent

your skin is pallid gray

the preacher man is on T.V.

the crows are on the roof

they pick the slate, the earth, the world

the Reaper stands aloof

(you reap what you sow,

and you sow what you reap!

the dead women singing

but all of them sleep)