Death

Make of it what you will.

Death held out a hand to Me –
And I to Him
I have seen Him pass My window –
Once or twice before –

He never glanced My way
For that surely would not do
My time has not yet passed-
I still had things to do-

But now He waits –
For Me to come to Him
Surely I should not keep Him any longer
And hand in hand we depart this land -