Not Stabbed Neither Poisoned Nor Sick Poem by Albert Boima

He was clamored dead!
Without being stabbed,
Without being poisoned,
Without being sick:
The angels' arch summoned him
To see the Heavens and Hell
And samples of judging the just and the unjust.

He was diabolical in deeds!
Defining himself to be the Sun that shines
The comments proved he deserved such a decampment.
'Sing! the snob who did us turpitude has travelled, ' they retorted at the scene.
His body was demanded for a quick burial
But a few prayed to wait it till the next sunup.
The eyes of revenge were gravely opened!

Then, at down, in the sixth hour,
The heavenly bodies and hemispheres implored for an amnesty of chance
And Gabriel gave heed to their plea
Charging him to be reputable.
At mercy the masterful soul revisited its flesh
It behoved him to repair the very engine of his life.