
The Grim Reaper visits me in the heat
of noontime, black cloak passing
sun’s rays into my eyes, blinds me.
I cannot see (why) the Reaper is here,
picking this time in bitter sunshine to
hoarsely whisper sweet nothings.
A bone-white face, cruel, he opens
his jagged mouth and screams, the sound
smashes windows, makes babies cry.