The moody sky cried

The river flowed wide

The bridge to cross was slippery.

The wind blew through the house.

It was as quiet as a mouse—

I was awaiting a special delivery.

A fiery ball of fluff

Came hurrying inside with a huff

Just as a beamy blue spark crossed the sky.

Inside I sat

With a cold wet cat

Patting his ginger fur dry.

The air grew cooler,

As the sky fooled her

Thinking the sun would come out for a bathe.

There was no light

Not a single ray insight,

We both no longer in good faith.

Outside my window

Sat a bright cerulean fellow

Waiting for a break in the clouds.

His wings glistened

As I listened

For the dark groan aloud.

It came from all around.

Deep with in this old Cape Town.

The anger was in the clouds.

The hallway creaked

And I stepped meek

Making certain not to crowd.

His growl was low

As deafening as newly fallen snow

My heart booming with the thunderclouds.

On the soaked balcony

Sat bones dressed in cloth and agony

Staring out at the storm.

You could describe him as Grim.

He was slim and extremely trim.

He was a different life form.

Tangerine scurried

I felt buried

From the weight of his cloudy sockets.

There was no time to run.

I had had my fun.

I reached for the seeds in my pockets.

He turned to me

Said “Hello, Cherie—

I’m here as a friend of Death’s.”

He waved a finger.

Told me to not linger

This took away my breaths.

I could not speak

I had piqued

My mind racing through time.

He smiled and shushed

As my eyes flooded and cheeks flushed

He was here in lieu of my crime.

Was he Death? I stewed.

No, Death was always bright blue.

This was Death’s keeper.

And all the while

I turned into a pile

Of ash for the grim reaper.