I do not quite know
How to welcome death anymore,
For she is such a frequent visitor.
I no longer greet her
Or take notice when she knocks at the door.
I know she has a key.
Every time is the same:
She walks right in,
Never asks permission.
She touches everything
And fills every corner of every room.
She only ever stays a few weeks.
Just long enough to make a mess,
And then she packs her bags.
But when she is gone
And we survey the damage,
We see she has put everything back in its place.
She does not want to look like the enemy.
But she can never be too careful.
She leaves fingerprints on everything she touches,
To remind us she was here.
To remind us she will be back.