I know one night Death will come stalking me
on padded feet--its fur will catch the moon
and return violet fire, while I, the soon-
to-be-departed, watch the trees. I'll see
a man-sized shadow, maybe, bend the limbs
under its weight, then vanish like black smoke.
The wind will silence then, all at a stroke,
and Death's eyes will leer down like blood-red gems.
Perhaps I'll hear the roar and see him fall,
the slashing claws, the teeth yellow and bare;
or maybe he will catch me unaware,
a sudden darkness that envelops all.
Or perhaps he'll crouch down, softly nose my hand,
and lead me gently toward that other land.
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