I wrote the following in my twenties, and it has long been a favorite of mine. Is it light verse? Is it something more?
A PLEASANT CHAT
I spoke to Death the other day.
We had a pleasant chat.
He told me he was on his way…
But, here, no more of that.
I offered him a cup of tea.
“Rest here a bit,” I said.
He stood a moment silently,
And then inclined his head.
“One lump or two?” I asked of him,
“None,” came the reply.
“I drink it black. Seriatim*.”
“I see, of course,” said I.
“My work is hard,” he said at length,
“No time off, you know.”
“The tea was fine – the perfect strength,”
“But now I have to go,”
A gentleman, you must agree.
Some things you cannot learn.
He clearly thought a lot of me.
He promised to return.
*Seriatim means one after another
A blog about all the arts, including politics
"for 'twere absurd to think that nature in the earth bred gold, perfect in the instant;
there must be remote matter." - Ben Jonson
"I don't know what the question is, but art is the answer." - Guy Conner