Poem #25

I'll be dead by morning,
with hardly any warning.
Sharing my final day
with you is the only way
I would go if I had my say.
2/6/02010

This was when I had a mysterious ailment causing problems with my feet. Hence, the speculation about my impending death. Not to worry. I didn't die that night. For the diagnosis and prognosis, check out tomorrow's poem.

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