“It’s getting late, old friend,” said Death.
And you are growing old.”
“But I have light and warmth and breath,”
I don’t yet feel the cold.”
“Your skin’s too loose for you. Your hair
Is white and getting thin.
Release your spirit from its lair
To take its final spin.”
“But I’m still dancing with my life,
Still singing with my soul!
I do not want to say goodnight
Until my tale is told!”
“It’s not for you to tell,” Death said.
Others will remember.
Be comforted, and rest your head.
Soon it will be December.”