So closely, too long have I walked with Death,
Nothing shall ever look the same again;
Flaunting in face his tainted, foul breath,
Stabbing me anew with tears of sharp pain.

How many years ago it seems to be!
When I mused beneath noontime's honeyed rays
Dappling ev'ry lichened woodland tree,
Whilst mocking and beckoning brighter days.

May's gentle, sweet breath of pine-scented night
Redolent with newly mown meadow hay
Stifles song and dulls each thrill of delight,
Reminding sweeter yet shall pass away.

So closely, too long have I walked in dread,
Crippled by pain within agonized breast;
Too long lingered in the land of the dead
Whilst only parting shall mock my request.

The scythe of the grim reaper draws e'er near,
Terrorizing each sleepless night and day,
Making game of wildest nightmare and fear
As a gleeful child delights at his play.


*~Hilda~