The lovely eyes of Death were dark,
no white in them to see.
She passed me in the marketplace
and smiled and winked at me.
She fought me on the battlefield
but saw me safely home.
And holds my hand when traveling
as o’er the world we roam.
Revealing mortal wounds that we inflict on girls and boys,
Her laughter rings displeasing at whatever she destroys.
Sometimes when she is holding me,
she’s gazing at the sea,
but is the sunlight dying there for her,
or is it me?
I know one day she’ll look at me and say to me, “It’s time.
“So kindly end your story now,
and rhyme your final rhyme.”
Until that day I hope to fill the world
with works of worth,
Death’s lovely eyes the last I see,
ere I return to earth.
BlackQuill 