Have not read that much by Ragyard Drippling, didn't much care for what I did read, but do sorta like this particular poem - must be the equusnecros factor, son of Revelation's pale horse taking a human fare to where that sullen twerp Charon is awaiting (hope he at least offers such a horse as this a drink of better than that Lethe'swill he poles and rudders through!!).

Find that the rime-ing does not use the rest of the poem as stall-dressing.

Like the scrubbadub mordent attitude the poem takes about death - allows a pedestrian stance to be taken between instinct's orgasm and the sexton all shoveled-up. Sometimes the ignorance of flesh succeeds in offsetting that fist full of stars that death is sure to throw against our elements, if not in our face. "We'll see", sed d'Zingmeistr...

Carpe verve all.