The Walk To Death
Let me tell you a story, a story that's never been told a meeting between death and old.
by Leroy Numa
On A dark winters night long past light
There was an old man alone
Making his way home
Limping as fast as he could through wood and bush
To get home in a rush
For the cold tore at his old feeble joints and bones
Which felt like dry stones
His face was numb he calls himself dumb for forgetting to wear a hat
And he remembers also that His old mind forgot to feed the cat.
Down an abandoned ally he shuffles for the hundredth time
For he had kept tally for every time
This time he felt strange for there
Was a change when a shiver ran down his spine
This wasn't from the cold he felt it in his head
This was the moment he long had dread.
He turned around staring at the ground before looking up at which was nothing at all but a dark robed figure standing proud tall
In its hands a Scythe it clutched
He could fell the cold as if his hands would freeze as soon as he touched
He knew the time had come as the figure spoke from within its cloak:
'Your time has come old man so pray if you can there is no more purpose for you to stay on the earth's surface you've had your time you now are mine'
The old man shivering and shaking said:
'Here I am death
Ready for taking I knew you was close once my garden needed raking
As you have said I have no purpose on the surface I have grown weak and old and for me it's much to cold'
He shut his eyes and took one last breath and welcomed his own death
the long tired ongoing beat in his chest seized and he finally took the walk to an everlasting rest
copyright by leroy numa