Great Gluttonous Death who spares not beast or man,
Indeed my time is one so much delayed;
For can it be that ‘pon this earth I span
The endless breadths, and yet shall be betrayed?
And yet I say, “What makes a man so sure
That his demise is not a breath away?
What guarantees that if he wakes, so pure,
That thus he has been given all the day?
For as for those who’ve met their sudden end,
Did they greet dawn and know no night would come?
Had not they plans and dreams and years to spend,
Then swiftly did they dirt and bones become?”
And so I wake, and ask myself this day:
“Will my day meet its night, or night its day?”