De'ath sat in the corner.
Toking on his pipe.
He wore a pair of carpet slippers.
Given to him by his wife.
His son came in from the store, he said "Dad you don't want to be smoking that ******* no more, it'll surely be the death of you."
De'ath said "no son of course, your right; without pipe tobacco the future is bright."
Mrs Death discarded his ifs and butts.
Okay, no butts, just bits of pipe dust.
Flakes of pipe tobacco scattered all around the room.
The mouthpiece of his pipe had been nibbled round the edges, he found it somewhat therapeutic.
Mrs De'ath said "Please dear, will you give your pipe to me, as a non-smoker you'll be able to breathe".
"Of course dear" said De'ath, as he took his last breath.
A little too late, today was his date.
His successor knocked ******* the door.
"Let me in, I'm ****** freezing".
Mrs De'ath opened the door, she told De'ath so many times before that she knew the score.
Smoking would surely be the death of him
Obviously, she knew best.
Clever Mrs De'ath.
(C) LIVVI