THE GRIM REAPER (JUST ANOTHER DAY AT THE OFFICE)

THE GRIM REAPER (JUST ANOTHER DAY AT THE OFFICE)

THE GRIM REAPER (JUST ANOTHER DAY AT THE OFFICE)

The Grim Reaper awakens from another day; from a well-earned sleep

From within the bowels of this cavernous earth, from his cave, so deep

His cloak and scythe been cast to one side; in an, unceremonious heap

From last night’s hard work; of collecting souls in the local town sweep

His dry and aching bones creaked from the hot fires that burned within

Time he thinks; maybe, for a glass, of his favourite, iced cooled pink gin

So; as his aching bones start to loosen up, he now starts to feel at ease

Outs; his cavernous abode to feel through his bones the night’s breeze

As little Goblins appear, muttering to themselves, on his, ravaged sight

By his grim face, they know they are in for another arduous, filled night

The Grim Reaper rummaging through an old toolbox looking for grease

Anything to give his dried out creaking bones some kind of pain release

Checks on the death list rota, to see what night work needs to be done

Before another night is over and coming home before next morn’s sun

Reading through the rota list, a bony smirk jars across his so aching jaw

When on it he sees; the names of those he knows; as to be never more

Mr Jones, the bailiff; to be cast forever into the bowels of hell to spend

As casting out so many into homelessness, with no humility did he lend

Mr Brown the greedy landlord that who charged way far too much rent

The Grim Reaper ponders on his face; when he sees who has been sent

His worthless soul soon collected and forever in hell is made to repent

As to this day; nobody knows as just where his overcharged rent went

The iced pink gin and the grease have done their work bones less creak

Then he passes some foul-smelling flatulence and has his morning leak

Now dresses in the only attire he has known since working in hell, here

As only the best of the town’s collector of cursed redeeming souls, Seer

Scythe and clipboard in hand; he sets off into, the wet and windy night

Until as over the town he stands formidably when you are 7ft in height

Before passing down onto the cobbled street below at a door to arrive

Back home the Goblins take this moment to have a cigarette and skive

They seem to know the score; it is going to be, one hell of a darn night

As seen with the speed of the Grim Reaper as he sets off in a fast flight

Town folk slept; as idle chimneys, released, their last plumes of smoke

Oblivious to the clicking of the Grim Reapers feet, and his trailing cloak

First was; old Mr Jones, who was sleeping tightly, upon the upper floor

The Grim Reaper rapped twice with his scythe upon the old wood door

You could almost feel as neighbours; buried deeper into their Ida quilts

The door though unmanned opened itself as if without of a hint of guilt

The Grim Reaper bowed beneath the doorway and ascended the stairs

Gave an old fart of a cat sleeping upon one of them a mightily of scares

As the front door, the bedroom door opened, like it had a life of its own

Sight of the Grim Reaper entrance; Mr Jones, let out one ‘eck of a groan

The Grim Reaper in one sweep; lifted this man upon his bony shoulders

The bed now bare, but; as within the wall, a dying fire, it still smoulders

The old fart of a cat had scarpered; onto other rellie’s had to make a call

While the Grim Reaper; made a fearful sight, towering in, at over 7ft tall

Leaving the cobbled streets; as disappeared into the mist, with his prize

Listened not to Mr Jones; the rotten bailiff, pleading, and so pitiful cries

The Goblins hearing their master return; readied themselves for chores

Extracting gold teeth with pliers; and, piling all their bodies up in scores

Mr Brown; the ever so overcharging rent man tenants now just relieved

Fred; the fishmonger who poisoned his missus on accusation aggrieved

The Cooper boys who watered down the wine; as filling up their pockets

Roy who poached fish in the river Fife, the Earl angry they made a profit

The work continued on through the night; until at last it was finally done

As the Grim Reaper and the Goblins settled down before the morn’s sun

The Goblins; with their 8 packs of lager, Grim Reaper, with iced pink gins

Another well-earned lie-in before another nite of soul collections begins

Indiana Shaw . . . : )