Grim reaper glides, stalking my door,
Anxiety unrelenting like never before.
Anticipating the unavoidable knock,
Midnight chimes on grandfather clock.
Pacing a Persian rug fraying a path,
Death awaits with relishing wrath.
Fretting like a father to be,
The journey; an unknown mystery
A dwindling soul biding my time,
He smiles serene hearing the chime.
Peeking at him from the windowpane,
He; awaits patient, for a soul to attain.
Sharp wicked scythe in one hand,
The other an hourglass of sand.
The chime, stilled a golden trickle,
Cursed three fates notoriously fickle.
Gently tapping; a beseech to come in,
Compelling me enter, with skeletal grin.