Hearseplay Poem by Maddy Jones

A man driving around,
Looks nothing awry,
He's seemingly sound,
But let's have a pry:

For the man who drives,
Is commuting a hearse,
Then an officer arrives,
But wait, it gets worse,

The officer commences,
His same ol' drill,
Mentioning offenses,
With the weather quite chill,

The driver remains cool,
Stays collected and calm,
And the cop is a fool,
Charmed out of his qualm,

The man drives away,
And with nary a cost,
To continue his play,
Of lives to be lost,

For the hobby he lusts,
Is the taking of souls,
But first, it's their trust,
Then the bodies he hulls,

After packing the dead,
And working the coffins,
He's roaming ahead,
His slaughters so often,

Surreptitious, he's sly,
You're seeming perplexed,
You don't know when he's nigh,
Could it be you who is next?