Who so loves believes the impossible.
by Ian Emberson
Death came to me in a mini skirt
As skittish as a kitten ,
And said : " I am come; for your final flirt " ,
But added : " You don't seem smitten ".
Says I : " Well; not in my wildest whim
Did I picture you looking like this ,
I'd been told that you were a reaper grim
And behold; a saucy miss ".
" Ah; many a one is like yourself
Surprised by my winning smile ,
I have jokes and jests like a playful elf
And I know the way to beguile ".
" But; please just pass me by with a nod
I've poems and plays unwritten ,
There are footpaths I have never trod
As you say; I'm not much smitten ".
" Oh hush my darling; and don't repine ",
And she gave a gracious prance ,
Then she twined her fingers into mine
And whispered : " Shall we dance ? "