My Reaper’s Gettin’ Old, And So Am I

I was just wandering through the house, muttering to myself, “I’m looking for a scrap of paper to write a list on,” and I was so careful to repeat it every time I passed a threshold, LEST I STRAY because of DOORWAY EFFECT!

(I read that article in Scientific American and was suddenly more forgiving of myself about losing track of what I was doing on my iPhone. ALL THOSE LITTLE APP-SHAPED DOORWAYS EVERYWHERE! Most particularly, doorways into the INTERNET! But if I say out loud to myself, “I am just here to check the temperature,” I can usually escape unscathed…)

…And then I found an old journal, and I brought it down to take a scrap of paper out of the unused part, and something I don’t remember writing caught my eye.

A poem? A song? About a, what, someone’s old TATTOO??? Something that begins with the words, “My reaper’s getting old, and so am I.” Why did I write it??? It reminds me of my friend Jeanine.

So I thought I’d copy it here for you. Thus SUCCUMBING to the very thing I’d tried to AVOID with my WIZARDLY incantations.

Ahem.

MY REAPER’S GETTIN’ OLD AND SO AM I

by C. S. E. Cooney

My reaper’s gettin’ old
And so am I
The ink beneath my skin
Is pale and dry
O his scythe’s a blunted sickle
And his grin is sick and fickle
O my reaper’s gettin’ old
And so am I

My reaper’s gettin’ old
And so am I
And my bicep in the mirror
Makes me cry
For his robe is black and torn
And his red eyes seem so worn
O my reaper’s gettin’ old
And so am I

My reaper’s gettin’ old
And so am I
And I guess we’ll both be dyin’
By and by
But my reaper makes me mind:
Live my life so wild and kind!
‘Cause it’s old–but also wise
And so am I

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