I was reading my Poetry theory on the train and got wildly inspired.

Stranger's passing

If it is not you, who lays here to decay,
Then who is this stranger, whose hand lays cold in mine?
If it is not you, but some man unknown to me,
Then, of course, his passing's tragic –
That must not be left unsaid –
But it sure is rude of him to lay dead here in your bed.