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Category: Funny Whimsical Poems
       Classic humorous and funny poems using whimsy. Humourosly quaint and fanciful, especially in an amusing way.


One day the dreary old King of Death
    Inclined for some sport with the carnal,
So he tied a pack of darts on his back,
    And quietly stole from his charnel.

His head was bald of flesh and of hair,
    His body was lean and lank;
His joints at each stir made a crack, and the cur
    Took a gnaw, by the way, at his shank.

And what did he do with his deadly darts,
    This goblin of grisly bone?
He dabbled and spilled man's blood, and he killed
    Like a butcher that kills his own.

The first he slaughtered it made him laugh
    (For the man was a coffin-maker),
To think how the mutes, and men in black suits,
    Would mourn for an undertaker.

Death saw two Quakers sitting at church;
    Quoth he, "We shall not differ."
And he let them alone, like figures of stone,
    For he could not make them stiffer.

He saw two duellists going to fight,
    In fear they could not smother;
And he shot one through at once--for he knew
    They never would shoot each other.

He saw a watchman fast in his box,
    And he gave a snore infernal;
Said Death, "He may keep his breath, for his sleep
    Can never be more eternal."

He met a coachman driving a coach
    So slow that his fare grew sick;
But he let him stray on his tedious way,
    For Death only wars on the quick.

Death saw a tollman taking a toll,
    In the spirit of his fraternity;
But he knew that sort of man would extort,
    Though summoned to all eternity.

He found an author writing his life,
    But he let him write no further;
For Death, who strikes whenever he likes,
    Is jealous of all self-murther!

Death saw a patient that pulled out his purse,
    And a doctor that took the sum;
But he let them be--for he knew that the "fee"
    Was a prelude to "faw" and "fum."

He met a dustman ringing a bell,
    And he gave him a mortal thrust;
For himself, by law, since Adam's flaw,
    Is contractor for all our dust.

He saw a sailor mixing his grog,
    And he marked him out for slaughter;
For on water he scarcely had cared for death,
    And never on rum-and-water.

Death saw two players playing at cards,
    But the game wasn't worth a dump,
For he quickly laid them flat with a spade,
    To wait for the final trump!

                                                         Thomas Hood.

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