Spying Death,

He moves forward.

Wating for his time,

With welcoming arms.

 

He continues.

With every step,

A louder breath.

Earth's details grow clearer,

In a mellifluous and slow,

Reluctant way.

 

Birds talk louder,

Wind drumming in his ears,

Every silent step closer,

Another pound of the loud, pulsing drums,

Calling him.

 

The natural orchestra,

Growing grand,

Picking up pace,

Nearly running,

As if wanting Death to come.

Boom! The last note.

 

Silence.

Time is still,

The song stops and he stares.

The last string is cut...

And Death walks on,

Past his victim,

Toward another tune.