The Death Threat Poem by David Rudd Mitchell
The Death Threat
Bond got the death threat,
At just after 3.
From a foe unperturbed,
By his Walther PP.
MD gave the bad news,
James did not respond,
For nature was saying,
You'll die Mr Bond.
A silent assassin,
His martini dry.
6 months if he's lucky,
His liver let die.
The credits are rolling,
And soon we'll all learn,
In words brief and shocking,
James Bond won't return.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/4/2024 12:22:50 PM # 1.0.0.1119
