.
He hung his head low
and said, “Terminal.”
Is it all predecided–
the way our days are spent?
All the ink hasn’t dried,
or was it the tears that I cried?
He hung his head low
and said, “Terminal.”
I decided to take fate
and twist its little neck.
I had nothing more to lose,
so I thought,”What the heck?”
I strolled slower beneath the mid-summer sun,
I roared back like the mouth of the sea.
I took my Cross and I doodled on the paper–
Thinking…”How could this all happen to me?”
He told me to go enjoy the smell of the flowers,
visit an aviary to hear the birds sing.
He told me the disease was incurable–
I was cursed to rhyme in Ry-
ting…
Whatever that is,
it shall follow ’till death.
Ry Ting, ry ting?
Just the word takes my breath!
So, I hung my head
for a different point of view.
I found my old rugged Cross
and “Nubby” my short
yellow number 2!
.
