My bad old man, you inspire me to write.
How I hate the way you assume and think,
Invading my mind day and through the night,
Always dreaming about that tragic day
Let me compare you to a contender?
Your death was mysterious and sick.
Clad winds shake the leafage of September,
And autumn time has the glad magic trick.
How do I hate you? Let me count the ways.
I hate your only death, tragic and sad.
Thinking of your mad tragic fills my days.
My hate for you is the memories tad.
Now I must away with an evil heart,
Remember my sad words whilst we're apart.
Ode to the Old man