Late Prof. J.P. Clark
eath is a necessary rehearsal.
Every day, its certainty rings a bell
In the attentive minds unimpeded.
Death, we will not cry nor wail for our own JP.
The literatus has united gracefully
With his kindred spirits to die no more!
Death is a necessary sour taste!
Every soul shall savor its noxious to lives.
The soul shall restitute for the short-lived
In the borrowed existential space.
Our literatus lived lovely and befittingly.
His works of art edify our cognition
With the fecundity of his mind and talent.
Death is a necessary verge.
Every soul is indebted to death;
We'll all barge in its extraterrestrial cocoon.
Death showed up to the literary giant.
It extended its enforcement with exactness
Of its usual mien to tame our literatus!
Now, he's gone to fulfill the edge of the merge.
Death is a necessary end!
When death comes to sting,
No golden remarks endure the appertains.
Death does what it does!
Thy sting plummets the souls of the living.
Death, who will question your fated
Coming when the time attains?
A question no man shall existentially answer!