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Beyond the city, in the blackest night
Lives the grim reaper, sickle in hand
Keeper of the corpses, rumors say
Bones line gardens, over which he stands

One by one, they’re brought to his castle
Taken too soon, by the latest plague
Piled on each other, no room for more
Why he enjoys this, is clearly quite vague

Count on him, by the light of the moon
You needn’t make an appointment
It’s first come, first served, anytime of day
Just remember, he’ll leave you disjointed


October Writing Prompt – Keeper of the corpses – Day 13/31

©2018 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved
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