A soft ending to one’s life: The Reaper Knits

By Dave Tierney

A walking corpse, a host for beetles

But worse still, his knitting needles

Dressed in a black cotton cape

He’ll stab you to death, there’s no escape

You can try to run but he’s not slow

With a quick click, he’s made a lasso

You’ll be pulled in with one slow drag

And get thrown inside a woollen body bag

With this fiend, there’s no hope

For he can knit a hanging rope

Even a pillow, his simplest creation

Could be used for suffocation

As long as he has lots of thread

All his targets end up dead

Life and death is a fine line

Marked by just, a piece of twine.