Death’s Sickle gone missing
An amusing tale of panic in the underworld — Fate and Death try to solve the dilemma
Death's got himself in a pickle He's gone and misplaced his sickle
Last time he knew where it was Was a day trip, out on the bus
Sat at the Moonbeam Beach Chomping on a juicy peach Laid out next to his bountiful spread Taking time off, from corralling the dead
Whence along came an opportunistic theif Pulled Death's Sickle from it's protective sheath Dragged it through the gritty sand Ran of with it in her grubby hand
When Death turns around to leave notices no sickle by the end of his sleeve
Just a note about his little weekend secret left casually hanging, on a thread bequeathed
He is distraught Mind racing with thought Who would do such a thing who'd steal his trusty bling!
Who knows of his little penchant As he's never aired it predawn
His famous sickle is lost Thus it comes with a cost
As there are corpses awaiting breath leaving their bodies, abating How can they pass over in peace Who will bring death, will dying cease
As far as Reaper's feel Death's feeling pretty Grim In the otherworldly, this loss is a sin
Left feeling all psychopomp without the need for Ceremony He wondered who knew that on weekends he prefers to be called Jeremy!
Panic and fear set in Death's so pale and thin He simply cannot even fathom Feels his wavering enthusiasm For how can he euthanise with this sudden surprise that while he was resting his eyes a theif ran away with his scythe
What a dilemma he ponders "How will I work" he wonders
He consults with Fate before it’s too late to take his new work home
Fates not amused, she starts to moan "Death you've disappointed" Fate laments quite pointed "Life's now to be anointed with a flourish, it's all flaunted many will live to a ripe old age now you've upset me, I'm all a rage"
Fate takes centre stage she flicks from page to page of her crisis handbook glances over to Death then takes a second look Death's been hard at it, he's fashioned a hook out of old car parts, he found in his nook
"Will this do for now, as I'm so late" he looks embarrassed as he beckons to Fate "Sure it's clunky and clumsy, might not fit through the gate, but it's the best I could muster" Fates answers all a fluster "For now it will do, as your terribly tardy, go reap, later we shall discuss, over a Barcardi"
As Death slips away, Fate turns to her nook Out of it she grapples a suspicious looking hook It’s only a shiny sickle she feels a quiver, is suitably tickled, at her cruel and tainted trick she can’t wait to tell Jeremy, that on weekends she prefers to be Nick!
©️Willow Innershire Sterrick 2023
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