"Itís a basal cell carcinoma,"

His doctor announced,

Writing in the chart.

Then swiveling around,

And leaning back,

"Very common, easy to excise,

Looks quite contained.

One chance in half a million of trouble".

So there he was.


On an examining table.

His right cheek

That hosted the evil growth

Was numb from anaesthesia,

His face covered with a surgical drape.

Cut and cauterize,

Cut and cauterize.

He felt nothing.

Lying there, breathing slowly

And evenly,

While the odor of burning flesh and tissue

Pervaded the room.

He was relaxed, calm assured.

His doctor, the best around.

Used by other docs in town for their own families.

Nothing to worry about.

And another thing, his Guardian Angel.

He knew that his Angel was quietly hovering,

Close by, within the litle room.

What he did not know

Was that, it was the Angel of Death.