a poem by Edwin Keith Jepson, UK - poetry writer, author, poet

As I lay sleeping in my chair
There came a knocking
On my door
The sound awoke me
From my slumber
So wearily I crossed the floor
I wondered who at this late hour
Could be knocking on my door
No doubt it was of some importance
For the noise
Grew louder than before
Wait one moment
My voice cried out
As I unbolted my big oak door
Then peering out into the darkness
I reeled backwards at what I saw
Standing there outside my doorstep
Stood a figure
Dressed in black
And when I asked him what he wanted
He stared at me and answered back
Are you the owner of this house
And is your surname Baker
I answered yes
And he replied
Well I'm your undertaker
Not knowing what to do or say
I gazed at him in fear
And suddenly the man in black
Spoke out for me to hear
I'm sorry to inconvenience you
But you were reported dead
No matter though I'll call again
And that was all he said

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