Death and Old MacReady
Old Cyril MacReady
Was a hundred and ten
When Death came and knocked on his door.
When Mac heard the knocking
He hid out in the pen
Where stood his best milk cow, Lenore.
Lenore got to mooing
Because she was no fool.
She knew Death would take them both quick.
Old Mac jumped right up
From his seat on the stool
And ran through the field toward the creek.
Now Death saw him running
And it was quite impressed
‘Cause Cyril, he ran pretty fast.
But nothing can move fast
As Grim Death when it’s pressed
To bring a soul down to its last.
It chased him through woodlands
To the edge of the town.
Old Mac took him into the Square.
They flew past the fountain
And they ran up the wodn
So fast that they hardly seemed there.
Death ran him for hours
His bones clicking so loud
That Mac thought it would fly apart
But Death is immortal
Unlike Mac, who though proud
Could not overcome his old heart.
It stopped between steps.
But he was far from gone.
His stubbornness kept him upright.
Death watched with surprise
As Old Mac motored on
From night into day into night.
Today he’s still running
Old Mac Ready the ghost
Or living, sure no one can say.
Look for him at twilight
But you’d better not boast.
For Death also runs in his way.
Sometimes you just need to write a poem about an old man and a chase that may or may not still go on today.
What? Just me?
(Photo Credit: Intuitivmedia on Pixabay)