| Poem |
 
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The Grim by Grace Fleming
 (4 ratings)
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In Spring
I felt inclined to eat
Then eat a little more
But then my vittles withered
And a knock came to my door
Shuddering, I dropped my fork
And opened my door in
And there waning on my doorstep
Was the shadow of the Grim
Breathing in, the Grim did say,
“Come now to meet your end.”
“I cannot die,” I said. I said.
“I cannot die,” I said.
In Summer
I felt inclined to sleep
To rest my aching head
But as I yawned, I found that He
Was sitting on the bed
The Grim stretched his bony fingers
And they crackled in the dust
Then downward went his skinless thumb
In a symbol of disgust
Breathing out, the Grim did say,
“Come now to meet your end.”
“I cannot die,” I said. I said.
“I cannot die,” I said.
In Autumn
I felt inclined to dance
For I could not stand to crawl
In spinning I discovered
I could keep away the Fall
Then another met the dance floor
And I spun a while with him
But when I felt his hand I knew
My partner was the Grim
And leaning in he said again,
“Come now to meet your end.”
“I cannot die,” I said. I said.
“I cannot die,” I said.
In Winter
I felt inclined to stop
And stopping found I him
An ink stain in a snow drift
The one and only Grim
There he took a wheezing breath
And exhaled not but flame
Through the white his shoulders slumped
When I let breath his name
And breathing flame in snow he said,
“Hast thou no fear of death?”
“I cannot die,” I said. I said,
“For I have yet to live.”
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