Biding time in lines of rhyme
A word a sentence a sigh
Flowing ink extends the brink
Upon which I lie
Every word not to be heard
But put down on the sly
The gentle bard should closely guard
His nightly devils dance
Never to vent evil intent
Where any might cast a glance
But deep inside barren and wide
The furies gaily prance
Under the moon the bodies are strewn
Victims of the fray
One and all eventually fall
Then are cast away
Distant scenes of broken machines
Surrender to decay
But in the end know this my friend
That each must have his day
Flesh and bone fall dust and stone
Even the strong rot away
So heed the call of the linen pall
And settle into the clay
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