Oh death it is the sorrow of my mind,
For serving up a wake,
To encompass all that is to be behind.
Doors their keys so tantalising and unfound,
Good soil to till and plant,
In natures growing ground.
My eager and inventive mind,
Still stores for me such tasks divine,
But each requires a living soul
To find its purpose so sublime.
Get the behind me inevitable Death,
For I have still so much to strive,
Together with my wondrous Witch
And always knocking, You.
Onward go we three entwined.
Subtle, cunning fate,
As generous as she is,
Gave me a love of loves
To hold me longer from your darkened gate.
Joy fills me but I see you
From the corner of my eye,
The sand glass runs so low
So with its last grain I will die.
Stalked as would a hunter’s prey,
Every sunrise so perhaps,
To be Your arrow’s day.
And with each day and sun’s arc pass,
Ever longer is your shadow cast.
Till that day to be my last.
Your darkness as my swaddling shroud,
Given to my Buddha, safely rested
Deep within his thunderous cloud.
- Date: February 2010