Sunset High

With the sunset yet high The undertaker prepares for the nigh A shovel for wrongdoings is his tool Lest he has to face a ghoul A lonesome crow hangs overhead On a branch over the undertakers shed He cocks his head curiously As if studying some conspiracy The undertaker sets out for the grave yard at dusk Walking amongst people long turned to dust The sky above is polluted black As he plants his shovel for his first hack Shovelful after shovel memories pass his mind It seems he’s done more wrong than right The sweat of years of labor drip down his brow Onlooking; the curious crow Each shovelful seems more surreal than the last This life went by in a flash The man lowers himself into the pit Greets the crow above with a smile „Burden of a friend help me with this pile“ Death sweeps down from the tree tops Glad to lend a hand Ok this poem pretty much explains how we dig our own graves, death is just there to finish the job.

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