O Death,be not unkind,
For this manner of delay,
One might find unpleasant.
Being thrown into an unceasing progression to turmoil;
Why would you be not wished for,
And why would you be not thought a relief?
Hush.
Your pride deafens you,
Thus,you hear not.
Your might hoodwinks you,
Thus,you heed not.
And perhaps,your schedule binds you,
Thus,you meet not.