The wind now chills me to
the bone.
The pointed finger of death
strikes me in the back like
the point of a dagger pressing
against my soul.

The grime reaper is riding his
steed across the vast plains
of rotting hell to reach me.
The fire is coming from his steeds
nostril.
The flames can be seen now in the
distance so I know he is close.

My body grows weary.
My blood slows down as it tries
to reach my heart.
The cold hand of death is strangling
my will to live.
The sounds of hooves are getting closer.
I can see his eyes.
I can hear his shouts warning me not to
try to run and hide for he will find
me.

He grabs me and lifts me upon his
steed and my life is gone from
my body now and I'm in the arms
of the grim reaper for all eternity.

© 2003 Written by Sandra Gard

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