Sometimes in the dead of night,
I see Death standing,
Tall and dark at the foot of my bed,
His eyes are purposeful and misty grey,
With a face stoic and strong,
And nothing inherently wrong,


And I say:

‘Death, I lie here without fear,
So take me if you wish,
But it won’t be worth your while,
For I am not like the others who are in need of their mothers,
And there is work to be done,
On the rising of the Irish Sun,'



He casts a heavy sigh,
And saying nothing,
We stare at each other for a while,
Only then to suddenly turn on his heels,
And walk slowly out the door,
Stepping gently on the creaking floor,


He comes back now and again,
And I greet him like a long lost friend,
Alas he is not ready to take me yet,
As the sun rises through dirty shades,
On this fine misty grey,
New Years Day morning, in Ireland.


~ G McK 
c. 03:00 AM New Years Day, 2021

Create Your Own Website With Webador