They came with grim faces,
Knocked on my door,
Expected me to talk,
About what's no more.

Like the grim reaper,
They take people away,
Lock them up,
Forever to stay.

Shiny shoes,
Cut-straight moustache,
Impossible image,
More than a half.

With news they swoop,
Death and tears,
Take it all,
With little but fear.

They came to my door,
So long ago,
My death they did bring,
My hanging low.

Swinging to side,
Their faces where still,
I stood behind,
Writing my will.

They are back again,
What to do?
More sad news,
From the boys in blue.

By Siobhan
Date: 28/March/2004