I lived in Edinburgh during the Black Plague
My occupation, a well off Plague Doctor
Trying to heal victims of the Black Plague
Mostly removed dead bodies from homes
And buried their rotting, stinking corpses
Took their precious belongings as well
Got rich on those and my high salary
My garb, a black cloak and a bird beak mask
A cane to examine patients, cauterize wounds
Strong Herbs in the mask, incense in the beak
Cloak greased with fat and wax kept fleas away
Bird mask didn’t save me, plague seeped in
Died a horrible death from the plague in 1690
Bob Boyd
Author: BobBoyd
Age 80. Cancer survivor since 3 years ago. Work out 3 times a week. Ride my exercise bike 2 hours a day. Live a solo reclusive life. Retired a year ago from working with the elderly in a nonprofit. Started writing poetry a little over a year ago; most poems I write are fictional but some are not. Spiritual with a permanent spiritual experience. Write poems on many subjects. Always researching for many of my poems and because of my unquenchable thirst for knowledge. After reading and hearing about many near death experiences and death bed visions, I believe death is the ultimate awakening and the relocation of a lifetime. You may believe differently, but you have the right to be wrong -- I'm just messing with you. :-)
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