There would be a slow decay
of the soul. Children would wake
and not want to play.
On faces, dread and dismay
would appear. The ground would shake
and buildings would tremble and sway.
Fire would sweep fields of hay.
Fish would abandon the lakes
for land on which they couldn't stay.
My absence, you wouldn't say,
for I'm a lovable rake,
is a thing you'd wish for any day.
* * * * *
This poem is my tongue-firmly-in-cheek response to a prompt at Poetic Asides to write a poem in which you imagine the world without you.