Some sudden deaths in our small town, my love – I've come on purpose, just to let you know.Upon their biers, in town, for too much heat,The corpses decompose ever so slow. The quick are in like manner decomposed,Their very dust is sweating in the heat;I can smell corpses in the air, my love,And, oh, today you've got a sagging teat. In potent perfumes soak the rugs aroundI'll pile upon you – go and fetch them – roses.Some sudden deaths in our small town, my love,And every corpse, at leisure, decomposes.
by George Bacovia (1881-1957)
