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Thou art to soul as sleep is to my strife, 
The cheeks when look neither rosy nor full, 
Lips red, nor knees so supple of a mule, 
The flesh when falters, wrinkles getting rife, 
In feeble frame and grey forgetting brain, 
And mind’s will that can far from firm remain. 

So, come, O Death, like lingering night's sleep, 
Come to me cool and smooth like a winter,  
Or golden yellow of a soft summer, 
For a soul that has lived full, well and deep, 
To whom life seems like a day's work well done, 
A night's rest well-earned to face morrow's sun. 

In glimmering sunset's withering glow, 
O let my old age be somewhat mellow. 
___________________________________________ 
Sonnet |03.01.2008| life, death, old age 
Poet’s note: Childhood being a period of innocence is by and large quite blissful. The old age also can be quite so if it is truly treated as a second childhood. Life and death are equal journeys as death happens right from birth— why this sonnet is equally divided in two sestets followed by a couplet.

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