No, I'm not afraid of death, (Not very much afraid, that is) Either for others or myself; Can watch them coming from the line On the wheeled silent stretchers And not shrink, But munch my sandwich stoically And make a joke, when "it" has passed. But-the way they wobble!- God! that makes one sick. Dead men should be so still, austere, And beautiful, Not wobbling carrion roped upon a cart … Well, thank God for rum. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FICTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON RHYTHM by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA: 6. SUNSET IN THE TROPICS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON SURFACES AND MASKS; 2 by CLARENCE MAJOR A MILLION YOUNG WORKMEN, 1915 by CARL SANDBURG |