A stride for death...

A buffer for want of death,
Climbed an arête with deep breath,
For he had the first heart attack
That shook him with a shock.
A rivulet, under the morning sun,
Had it’s serene run,
By the wayside producing a fetid
Smell creating a sense of trance, for
It had many odd smelling fishes
Ascending and descending
Down the rivulet.
The smell made the old man vomit,
Made him lie down the summit.
Rising up after a deep sleep,
Continued, the old man, his creep.
As the dusk rose up it’s head
The buffer had him fed,
As the temperature had it’s descent
The old man erected his tent.
As the dusk changed to dawn
He made his journey on,
Reached the edge breathtakingly
And glanced at the height wistfully.
The old man, getting terrified,
Hurried down the arête pacified.
As he descended down the arête in peace
He overcame the smell of the rivulet with ease.
Realizing his foolishness to die,
He traveled his way back home.