Poem Hunter
As A Doornail
(04 October 1943 / Germany)

As A Doornail

Poem By Herbert Nehrlich

A surgeon, rich but low on skills
came down himself with painful ills.
The pharmacist prepared some pills
from herbs he'd gathered in the hills.
The tablets didn't come with frills
the doc found out that living kills.

He laid upon the bed his head.
And soon the pillow coloured red.
Which by its liquid nature spread.
This filled his heart with sudden dread
and scared his older brother Ed.
Asked Ed 'what was it that you said? '
There was no answer, Doc was dead.

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