While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught, <br /> <br />From branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought, <br /> <br />Your soul, a beggar's blanket, hangs in crazy quilted knots, <br /> <br />With dangling pearls and diamond studs mid dripping crimson clots, <br /> <br />And gaping wounds and bulging eyes like fouling apricots, <br /> <br />And wrapped in chains around your neck, the Reaper's grim garrote.'<br /><br />Terry O'Leary<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/while-waiting-at-the-river-styx/
