Death a joker

In the shadows deep, where laughter's grim,

Where darkness dances with a wicked grin,

A tale of death with humor's jest,

For life's finale, we shall jest.

Upon a hill, a graveyard's gate,

Where bones do rest, their final fate,

The Reaper lurks, a spectral mime,

With bony fingers, counting time.

In blackest cloak and hollow stare,

He beckons all, without a care,

"Come one, come all, let's take a ride,

To the other realm, no need to hide."

With chuckles low, he wields his scythe,

A morbid dance, a twisted writhe,

"I snip, I snip, the thread of life,

For kings and paupers, husbands, wives."

A mournful widow weeps, bereft,

But Death's dark humor, none have left,

"For you, my dear, I'll make a trade,

Three jokes, and your soul's debt is paid."

She wipes her tears and starts to jest,

A clever quip, a jest in jest,

With each retort, the Reaper grins,

A wicked game of laughs and sins.

In somber tones and riddles droll,

He collects souls, his macabre toll,

But in the end, the punchline's near,

For Death's dark humor knows no fear.

He leads the souls to the unknown,

With comic wit and eerie moan,

The afterlife, a cosmic stage,

Where dark hilarity takes its wage.

So when you hear the Reaper's call,

And darkness looms to claim us all,

Embrace the jest, the witty rhyme,

And laugh with Death at the end of time.