Poetry Archives

Said Brown: ‘I can’t afford to die
     For I have bought annuity,
And every day of living I
     Have money coming in to me:
While others toil to make their bread
     I make mine by not being dead.’

Said Jones: ‘I can’t afford to die,
     For I have books and books to write.
I do not care for pelf but I
     Would versify my visions bright;
Emotions noble in my breast
     By worthy words should be expressed.’

Said Smith: ‘I can’t afford to die,
     Because my life is kindly planned;
So many on my care rely,
     For comfort and a helping hand.
Too many weak ones need me so,
     And will be woeful when I go.’

Then Death appraisingly looked down,
     Saying: ‘Your time’s up, Mister Brown.
And I am sorry, Mister Jones,
     The earth is ready for your bones.
Friend Smith, although you’re overdue
     Your lease of living we’ll renew . . .
Both fame and fortune far above,
     What matters in the end is—Love.’