To make a meter, from foot of rope To hold a pint, in bucket broke
From old to young, one ‘man spoke
Cancer, a disgusting thing, devours birds from wing to wing, eats all trees from roots to leaves, answers to none does as it please
Depression, a lonely thing, many to the edge it wants to bring, to jump and break the things it takes, too many short stories depression will make
Grief, from one to another, something we share from brothers to lovers, our sisters will miss us, and so too our parents, the things we leave behind are all but coherent