*

Death our final master walks in our clothes.

He crosses the street with us.

He sits at our table.

Death rides on the highways of our lives

Death is that great fluxing between dimensions.

Death walks behind you black robed and grinning.

I have heard his strange music on some sunny

mornings when the wind ruffles my hair.

It's like a tiny tinkling of bells.

A sound like the grinding of the planets in their spheres.

A silly little song that makes one sing

with the joy that only life can bring.

*