I'll probably die jotting down another sonnet 18 Or maybe trying articulate my very own “do not go gentle into the night” Or still marvelling the “Still I rise” classic. I'll probably die teaching a rhyming scheme and when the prodigy the gets it right probably my face shall beam as the prodigy sees the light. Probably I'll die with no metaphors or with ink dripping thru my pores, Or maybe emphasising that a metaphor and a simile are from the same family. Probably I'll die when I've used all my blood or when they no longer weep when they read my thoughts, Or perhaps when my thoughts are no longer loud By then I may have conquered the demons I fight. I'll probably die right after planting my Daisy's and ne'er see them blossom, And shall that happen mother nature shall adopt them Shall my demise be out of my unconsciousness may it not be in a detestable place, Shall my ghost ascend again I shall not dread wearing it with ignominy and pain
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