Death

• George M, Grade 6
• Poetry
• 2006

The Grim Reaper, he walks around all, he misses no-one, not the brave nor the tall, nor the lowliest peasant; none will he spare, he will kill them all, without but a care.
Everyone looks east, for hope to see the sun, but it will not rise; their doom has begun. Swords clash and arrows fly, everyone here is doomed to die.
Dawn arrives but much too late; everyone here has suffered their fate. Never again to see a blue sky, everyone here was doomed to die.