Until the reaper’ scythe you have acquaintanced!”
He said to silence over-aspiring wit
Which, through barren fields of half-thought thoughts, pranced.
“For the lay’s path, by thy destiny lit
Will deviate and stray, and death’s heart be lanced.”
The wits retort, meant fully; “For this we strive:
Immortal, for eternity, to live.”
a poem in the Ottave Rima style
by your good friend who you may or may not have ever met, the Surveyor
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