USA

"LIMPING OUT"

When all the leaves were limping out
And flowers in the field were white
The life of Death was waking up
And He came tramping down our lane.

I met Him in the open porch
But did not recognize His face
He seemed so friendly and benign.
He talked so calmly, full of grace.

Reminding me of some old friend
The warm sun ruddy on His skin
He shook my hand and smiled wide
I thought Him neighbor, asked Him in.

When dinner came He was polite.
He helped himself in goodly haste
And filled His cup and drank our cheer
Until my father ventured near.

He would not come.
Death would not go.
I called upon a friend to help
And finally Death did drift away

On our lane at sunset time
Among the trees He seemed sublime
His shadow no one saw but me
Was climbing up that old oak tree.

I went inside and sat me down.
My fathers place was quite well served
But then I saw upon his face
The canny look of Death preserved!

Though He had gone His shade clung still
To father and his appetite.
And soon he thinned and faded pale
And withered in the whimpering light.

The room is quiet now and cool
His clothes a heap upon the bed
My eye transfixed, the empty sheet
The pillow hollow where laid his head.

The counselor is gone for now.
He could not stay to make his point.
He could not even make the question stick.
It slipped and fell away un-put!

And from the wall of midnight where I stood
I saw it flutter to the ground.
I saw it flutter all disheveled.
I saw it there, unkempt, unbound.

 

© All Copyright, Mark A McLane.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.