"Whose corpse this is I think I know."

An original poem of mine in imitation of one of Robert Frost's classic poems, "Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening."

Whose corpse this is I think I know.
His grave is in the churchyard, though;
It will not see us stopping here
To watch its ghost cry out in woe.

 

My little boy must think it's queer
To stop without a graveyard near
Between the woods and frozen lake
Whereat the corpse's upon its bier.

 

He gives my hand a wrenching shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other soul's the shade
Of coming Death for his end's sake .

 

The corpse is grisly, foul, and decayed,
But I have Death to then dissuade,
And pleas to make before I'm afraid,
And pleas to make before I'm afraid.